


Mortality

by the_queen_of_thedas



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Death, F/M, Feeling for the first time., I need to stop making AU, Nonbinary Character, Other, Personification of Death, Possession, Salladin is actually really nice, Slow Burn, The Fade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-08-16 10:46:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8099227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_queen_of_thedas/pseuds/the_queen_of_thedas
Summary: I had never felt fear before. I didn’t know how to compare or understand the emotion. But what I knew was in that instant, I feared for my very existence. I feared for the souls of those outside. I feared for Thedas. In that instant, I realized what many saw when they finally met me. And I was terrified.What if two Lavellans burst into the room to stop Corypheus's ritual? What if one of them merged with the very thing that so many fear? What happens when death takes on the body of a Dalish elf?(Updates every Monday or Tuesday.)





	1. Waiting

Ever heard someone say “the moment you are born you start to die”?

 A morbid little saying, but it doesn’t make it any less true.

Every second you spend watching, eating, playing, sleeping, reading --is one second that you and I are closer to our introduction.

For I am death.

I am not evil.

Not in nature, not by name.

It is how those who fear me judge my touch. They see me as the bringer of misery and pain, a selfish being that takes pride in their suffering. In truth, I am quite clement and candid. I only do my duty and fulfill your destiny. What sorrow my visits bring are not voiced by you upon meeting, but those you will leave behind. Those that will eventually join you.

I can understand why cheerful is a disposition that is difficult one to associate me with.

I am, in the reality and in all frankness trying to brighten your views. Many believe me to be an end, others a new kind of beginning. Whatever you believe makes no difference in the end, you simply are what you are. And I am what I am. And I know where to plant your memories, colours, and souls. 

Each one assigned an allotted plot.

I am merely the gardener of your time. I watch as you sprout from the soft or hard ground and develop into full bloom. I meet so many souls. Some are but a simple rosebush, thorns guarding their beauty and grace. Sometimes I meet an oak strong and tall, pride decorating their branches. Others it could be a deadly nightshade. For so long they have been hurt and razed down. They bloom in their beauty, only to meet their end so sudden. 

No matter what, they all return to the earth they sprang. Some I snip from the vine due to disease or necessity. Others are cut or snuffed out by other souls. Like a tree's branches and leaves covering the sun from the small daisy below. For the many of you, it is when you wilt that I am forced to pull you from the ground, only to place you in your plot. A garden where no leaves or branches will block your sun, nor pestilence bother your stem. A place of tranquility. Where you find that your faith can be neither confirmed nor denied. 

Please don’t be afraid, I mean you no harm.

It is simply how it must be.

It’s the moments when we meet, I take the most pleasure in. Not because you are fleeting, but because it is the only time when you can see me. The only time when I am a person, not a thing to be feared. I am part of your world, and therefore in part, a piece of you.

I spend your entire life watching and waiting for you. I watch you make friends, I watch you love, I watch you cry. Every step I am there. Parts of me drift through the world watching, my eyes on every door and forest. Never touching the soft grass of the earth or feeling the roughness of the rock under my touch. But somehow I reached out. Somehow without actually feeling anything I could sense it all. With every part of me. With every shard, a simple part of a whole.

I send myself to the side of every warrior or civilian, ready to take their hand as we meet for the first and last time.

For the dwarfs, they celebrate your funeral into the legion. I am there for each one. I blow a kiss into the ink they mark their face with. It is my blessing, my gift to them upon their sacrifice. When they return to their stone. I gesture a simple hand, their hardy nature never needing my gentle touch.

The humans seem to differ in many of their traditions. I stand by their side in war and in peace. I watch as they light a fire to send their loved ones to their gods. Each little flame telling a moment of the soul's life. Some shine brighter and hotter than others, some barely an ember. For those lost and abandoned, or those who do not follow, I give the most care.

The kossith or qunari are unique. They carry their lives and souls with them, but some attach it to their belongings. When I had first seen a proud Kossith warrior fall in battle, and his soul is nowhere in view. I had been confused, bewildered, and perplexed. It was then, beside him, did I see his great sword. The colours and memories slipping ever so slightly from the cold metal.

Now the elves are a tricky people. For so long we had been at an impasse. They would tower in their spans, their souls becoming too burdened with their memories. When they did finally come into my embrace, their  lights were blinding. I would spend decades watching those who lived, regarding how they flourished but grew bored. In their apathy, they sought me out, either in war or by their own accord. During battles, I would soar above them, watching as the lights and memories spilled from souls released. Each one, I would take care to spirit away.

But when their eternity turned to decades, I seemed to hold them more dear than their predecessors. Not because they were any less in spirit or soul, but for their will to hold on to their memories and light. To the colours of their past, no matter how saturated in crimson it was.

Each race a different side of a die. All sharing my friendship, some even begging for it.

Slaves. Oh slaves, now they are the short-lived ones if I’ve ever seen a class. Even with the elves in their time of longevity, did the elven slaves yield to our constant friendship. Each set of eyes would glance into mine, many welcomed our parley, some begged for it. Their master's none the wiser as their precious slaves were freed one by one in the dead of night as swiftly as an owl taking flight.

I would grant them their wish on occasion.

A selfish move on my part.

To disrupt fate and destiny in such a way.

But I could hear their soul cry out in pain, in need of my touch. But upon seeing it, years would go by before we would finally meet. But their screams, oh their screams.

I was not without my humanity.

How could I not?

But to change destiny? To change their fate? It was dangerous and foolish to do. To die is every creature's destiny. Fate is how and when they got there. Some cheat their destiny by binding themselves to stones or with magic. It is those souls who I mourn most for we will never meet.

Regardless.

I have stood on the fields of the bloodiest battles and watched in horror and fascination as humans, dwarfs, elves and kossith charged at each one another. None could hear nor see how close or long their lives might’ve been had they not fought that day.

I was with Meric Therin and Loghain Mac Tir at the Battle of the River Dane. With Andraste and Shartan as they laid siege to Tevinter. I stood at the side of Falon’din as we worked in ‘partnership’. I was within the ranks as soldiers charged towards darkspawn at Ostagar. I guarded the young lay sister as the Chantry exploded in Kirkwall. I watched dwarfs sacrifice themselves to the Anvil of the Void, giving themselves not to me, but to their golems.

Now I stood at the side of an ancient Darkspawn, as he prepared to take the lives of thousands.

He had a foci of power in his grasp.

All part of his fate

Soldiers in Silver and Grey served at his feet, their freedom and mind clouded and caged by his thrall. A Chantry matriarch stood imprisoned at his side, her voice and soul cried out for aid. I could do nothing to disrupt the plans of the beast. He was part of the fate and destiny of so many.

I waited until two elves burst threw the doors. Both had brown hair, one male the other female. The markings of vallaslin decorated each of their faces. Their entrance was enough to draw the attention of the Darkspawn. Taking the chance from his distraction, the Chantry matriarch knocked the orb from his grasp. I followed as it rolled across the ground to the elven man’s waiting hands.

Then I heard his screams

Agony and pain.

I watched as the orb lashed out at him, the girl helpless to aid. She went to the boy and tried to rip the orb from him hands in a desperate attempt to save him. But the second she touched him her own screams joined in chorus with his.

It burned her soul, her throat, her skin.

Green light flooded the world, and two screams became one. Then slowly silence. I knew in that instance everyone outside would be dead. I could feel their souls wanting to be released as they quickly ceased.

I tried to find her soul.

Nothing.

Only green.

I was disoriented for but a moment before the pull of her soul rang out to me. Following the call like a dancer to the beat of the drum. I found her.

As I reached out, a misty hand to take her away from all the pain. Everything changed.

For the first time in my existence, I could feel the pain, the agony that she felt. My aura and spirit pulsed and pulled. I attempted to get away, to let go of her hand, but it was for naught.

My form and spirit were in her grip. I could not move, nor escape.

I had never felt fear before. I didn’t know how to compare or understand the emotion. But what I knew was in that instant, I feared for my very existence. I feared for the souls of those outside. I feared for Thedas.

In that instant, I realized what many saw when they finally met me.

And I was terrified.

__

 

Lights and then darkness.

My eyes fluttered open at the tug of my hand.

Light flickered from a torch on the corner of the wall. I began to stir, my head throbbing.

How could I feel that? I have never truly felt my own pain. It has always been that of another, but even so, it was nothing like this. I could not recall when I had last felt something against my touch. I don’t think I have ever held anything but souls.

It was perplexing and overwhelming. All of a sudden, I could feel the cold air against my exposed skin.

Skin. Did I ever truly have skin? I had a form so to speak, but nothing so solid as skin. I reached up and felt where I assumed my face was. My hands were bound, cold metal rested against them leaving my arms heavy in their stead. As I touched my face, I felt the smooth skin trail up to strong jaws. Exploring further, I reached my ears. They were large and pointed.

I was an elf.

The thought thrilled and terrified me. How could I be an elf, a mortal, solid? What had happened? I went to sit up but the world seemed to spin. Falling back down, a hand was placed to my arm. Calloused fingers were rough against my skin.

“Easy, da’len,” a deep voice cooed. I settled back down and closed my eyes as my head still swirled. “You should rest. ” His voice was male, unmistakably male. His words flooded my ears taking up all of my senses. He was talking to me.

Me.

A clang of metal hitting against stone drew his attention from me. “Is she awake?” Another male voice called, it was higher, but filled with concern. I felt the man’s hand leave my skin. The sudden loss of contact made me want to reach out.

“Barely, her injuries have healed quickly, though she is still weak.”

“But she’s alive right?” The higher voice paused. “She’s going to live?”

“She will, Herald. She will make a full recovery if she is left in peace to rest.” I could hear their melodies from where I laid. Each of their tunes flowing to a different beat, but at parts, there was a bridge that was the same, where the two seemed to fall in line together only to either slow or speed up. The allegro soul huffed and took a step forward. I felt his breath on my cheek as he leaned down and laid two lips on my forehead.

“Please don’t die on me, Sal. I can’t lose you too.” My heart seemed to clench at his words.

How odd.

I had felt something similar when I had tended to the souls of slaves. It wasn’t mercy or compassion. It was something else. Somehow I felt for this soul, his words stirring something inside me. I didn’t know the name, not even the feeling really. I just sort of understood his plight.

Not from experience, but from a logical standpoint.

The lips leave my skin, as does the warm breath. I could hear his departure and the other soul let out a sigh. “He is going to bear so much pain in the time to come.” His voice was soft and lulling. A splash of water then dampness on my forehead surprised me. My eyes darted open. A drop of water slipping down the side of my head.

It was cold, too cold. It worsened the throbbing as it chilled my skin.

Gingerly, I reached up once again, my hands lifted high above me. His face came into view as he looked over me. High cheekbones and a sturdy jaw lined his face angling down into a pointed chin. Crystal blue decorated his irises, brightening his pale skin and dark brows.

I could feel his soul, it was quiet. Giving me only whispers.

Whispers all too faint

I tried to pry as I placed a hand to his face. His skin smooth to the touch. The crystal blue irises watched me with unwavering curiosity. His brows knitted together as I closed my eyes and listened. Slowly his melody and colour trickled free.

I could feel it, see it, hear it.

Dark green, soothing, and rough.

The sorrow he held, it was great yet his ambition greater. I saw little of his life but much of its emotion. It was familiar in a way. I had seen this soul before. Felt it by my side. It was hard to place, hard to pin down. It was calming and exonerating all in one breath. I remembered Falon'din’s soul began like this when we had first met. When he could first see me.

I sighed. My oldest friend. My first companion. My biggest regret.

Our partnership had lasted centuries. But like everything it had come to an end. He had lost. Lost so much. “Ma Falon’din.” I rasped, my hands falling to my side. His eyes widened in confusion, before the darkness took me once again.


	2. Questioning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So our lovely death gets a name, and basically, answers/asks questions.

There was buzzing, so much buzzing. My head felt like a lead top, sitting up I rubbed my temple. My hands were still bound, though now it was with coarse rope. I tried to pull them apart only to feel the fibers of it scratch against my wrists. I actually felt them.The coarse rope rubbing against the skin of my wrists, caused a red line to appear. It didn't hurt per say; nothing like the pain I had been through with the green light. No. this was more of an agitation. Like a simple fly buzzing around your head. It was bothersome, sure, but not troubling.

Torches lined the room, a metal door stood guard in front of me. The light was enough to illuminate a larger hallway past the door. Shaking my head I stood. My legs wobbled underneath me as I attempted to take a step. My feet felt heavy as I tried to lift them, I made it one step before my legs knees gave way underneath it. Losing my balance I toppled to the floor with a _smack._  

“Oww--” I cried out, my voice scratchy against my dry throat. Letting out a frustrated breath, I tried to stand again. The wall, a prop to ease my shaking. Stumbling to the door, I went for the handle.

It was cold to the touch, coarse metal ran under my smooth skin. Before I could pull the handle, the door swung open. In its wake, an elf boy stood. He had the markings of Falon’din etched in green across his square face. He had tanned skin and dark brown curls that lined his face. Green seemed to radiate from his soul, every inch of him seemed to illuminate with it. His left hand in particular. Taking a moment to adjust his light subsided and I was left with green eyes staring back at me with surprise and joy as the elf swept me up into a hug. I froze at his unabashed affection.

“You’re alive! You’re alive! By the Gods you’re alive!” He squeezed me close to his chest, the beat of his heart thumping in bliss. “Oh Gods, Sal I missed you so much, you wouldn’t believe what has happened.” He released me and held me at an arm's length away by my shoulders. “The shems think me some sort of religious person. Imagine that, _me_ as one of the shemlen martyrs.” He laughed, then searched my face. His smile slowly fading into concern. “You okay, Sal? What’s wrong?”

“Who is Sal?” The question innocently cocking my head to the side in question. “Who are you?” The elf's eyes dropped and his skin turned ashen.

He stared at me until his head nodded slowly. “Um… I’m Tamaris.” He bit his lip. “Have you met me before?”

“No,” I stated plainly, I had watched him, listened to him, but never had the pleasure of an introduction. This elf was the one destined to avenge the souls lost by the Darkspawn. He was life’s only hope. But in that instance, the hope for this world's vengeance and life looked almost scared.

“Okay.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “I’ll be right back.” He let one hand linger on my shoulder. “Don’t leave okay?” I drew my eyebrows together in puzzlement but nodded anyways. The elf shot me a weary smile and all but ran out of the doorway leaving me standing alone in the torch lit room.

Sighing, I went back to the bed I had awoken from and sat down on its side waiting and listening.  

_

 

“What do you mean she can’t remember?” A muffled accented voice questioned down the hallway.

“If she doesn’t know her own name or even recognize _me_ how do you expect her to remember what happened at the temple?” Tamaris’s explained. There was a strain to voice. “I’m sorry, Seeker, I really wish she did remember.”

“Herald--” The accented voice started.

“I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with.” Their footsteps approached the open door and Tamaris walked in, his jaw clenched and expression doubtful. Two more people walked into the room. A woman with black hair and a scar running down the side of her face. Her soul was strong but rash. She’d been touched by a spirit, that much was obvious. Faith. It was definitely faith.  For it shown through her so brightly, it was difficult to look at directly. Light filled the cracks around her joints and edges capturing her in a glowing halo.

The other was a hooded human woman. Her icy gaze seemed to be calculating my every action. Taking in everything about the room and the very mood of it. Her soul was a dark violet. It had been darkened from time and experience. She had seen and done a lot. The woman who stood before me was one who I’d stood at the side of before as she interrogated and protected.

She was the first one to speak. “We have come to the understanding that you do not remember your name or the events before the Conclave.” There was no question in her words only a confirmation.

“I remember the Conclave, just not my name.” The woman seemed surprised at my words, she raised an eyebrow to Tamaris who looked at her with confusion.

He leaned off the wall. “How could you remember the Conclave, but not your own name?” He sounded hurt by my confession.

Turning to face him directly, I clarified. “I remember the Conclave because I need to know, I am required to know what happened. How I ended up here, like this.” I gestured to the body. “And I do not remember my name because I had none that I ever truly took for myself.” I paused looking at their confused faces. “So many call me so many different things. I’m not sure which I am or which I am not.”

“You are Salla Lavellan.” The elf pleaded. “That is your name. It has always been your name--” His voice tapered off at the end. I looked at him as I thought back. I never had a name.  Not one that I could remember. Everyone has called me by one or another. Either I am Death, The Grim Reaper, Din’an, Katari or Salroka. Each one a different meaning, each one a different shard of myself. Who was she now? Was she the elf whose body she now inhabited? Was she still ‘death’? Was I still me?

Maybe I was all of those and more.

“Salladin. I am Salladin,” I corrected. He looked at me confusion plain across his face. Slowly though it morphed into acceptance as he nodded. “How have I come to be here?”

“You fell from the Breach,” he stated.

“Breach?”

The faithful woman added. “A giant hole in the sky connecting the fade to this world.” I looked at her in bewilderment. How had the fabric become so worn that it had torn? Had it been the Darkspawn’s doing that the veil was ripped open? It would have taken an immense amount of power to do so, and the expanding energy of it would have caused untold devastation. A reason for her presence there then.

But why had I fallen from it? I never recalled being in the fade nor trying to escape it. The fade was a place for the spirits, a place for dreams and rebirth. I was not permitted there. It was unnatural.

“Why was I in the Fade?”

“We do not know,” said the faithful woman. “All that we can understand is that when the Herald stabilized the Breach with the mark--” Tamaris waved with the green hand “--you fell from the hole. Our mage was able to brace the impact of your fall as best he could, but it was not enough to slow you completely. The fall had done serious damage. Many feared that the woman they saw fall from the rift would perish.” She paused to look over me. “It seems the Maker smiles upon you, though.”

“It’s impossible to kill me.”

Tamaris laughed.“And she’s back!” He exclaimed a cheeky grin spread across his etched face. I couldn’t help but return the gesture.

“You said you remembered the Conclave.” The hooded woman interrupted her face deadpan as she watched the two of us.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Why were you there?”

“To watch, to wait and to listen,” I stated plainly. The woman nodded and continued on.

“When you got to the Divine’s chambers what did you see?”

I fiddled with the itchy rope around my wrists.  I thought back to when I was waiting for the time to come. For the destined hero to make his debut. I listened to the Darkspawns monologue and watched as he apprehended the Chantry matriarch. Her soul was light and airy. But it’s melody at times sad. She had seen troubles in her life, yet she had overcome and adapted. It was her peaceful and ambitious nature that had lead to the mortals Conclave. She had wished an end to the war. If not by peaceful ways, by force. Isn't that what a mother does? Sit her children at a table till they apologize or send them to their rooms?

I wasn’t sure. I never was good with parenting, I never had any offspring I could remember.  

“The Darkspawn creature held the Chantry matriarch in magical binds as he attempted to use an orb or foci to harness the power of her and the temple inhabitant’s souls.” All three read different expression. Tamaris doubt, the faithful soul surprise, and the hooded woman confusion.

It was the faithful soul who inquired first. “What do you mean Darkspawn?”

“He was a Darkspawn, old but weak. He wanted power, that’s why he used the orb.”

The hooded woman crossed her arms. “How do you know this?”

“Because I was there and I could see. It was simple logic to understand what he planned.”

She looked skeptical. “Did this Darkspawn kill Justinia, kill the Divine?” I took a moment to think. The orb had caused the explosion and devastation that reigned. But the Darkspawn was the one to wield it. The string of fault could even be traced back to where the creature had gotten it from. The guilt could be traced all the way back to the maker of the foci. Back further, even to me. 

If anything the real culprit for the Conclave’s destruction was me. I was death, I had been the one by nature to kill them. But even that was debatable. I had been there but the explosion itself had been the final straw.

“It is debatable.”

“How is it debatable!?” The faithful lashed out. “Did it kill most Holy?” She stepped before me. Her advance filtered by a hand on her shoulder.

“There is no use in yelling Cassandra.” The hooded woman turned to me. “Do you not know who killed her?”

I bit my lip in thought. “ There were too many variables, who made the final move is uncertain.”

“If the vision at the temple was anything to go by Seeker, we were only in the room moments before the explosion.” Tamaris defended.

“No.” Tamaris looked at me in confusion. “I had been in the room before you came in.”

“That is impossible, we saw you burst into the room with the Herald.” I went to shake my head in retort when Tamaris put a hand on my shoulder.

“It's okay if you don’t remember.” He gave me sympathetic smile before turning to the two woman who looked on with skepticism. “I believe she's had enough for today. She just woke up. I'm going to take her out into Haven and give her the tour.”

The faithful was going to protest but the hooded woman interrupted her. “Of course Herald, I'll have Josephine set up a permanent room for her.”

He nodded. “Thank you Leliana, but she can stay in my cabin. We don't need to use precious space for an extra body when Sal can just bunk with me.” The hooded woman, Leliana, sucked in a breath.

“You understand how that looks, no?”

“She's my sister if they have an issue with kin sharing a space then times must really be that drastic.” Sister? I was no one's sister. I had no blood kin, let alone blood.

But this body had blood.

But I was an elf now. So he was her brother then. It explained so much about his concern and blatant shock when I had asked his name. He had been through so much. He thought himself alone in a spiraling world until I had appeared. He had hope and familiarity with this body’s return. He still had a piece of his past to cling to, a piece to remind himself of home. But I have dashed his hope in a single question.

I acted my duty before I even understood.

I looked down at my hands. Hands that were never mine. I had taken his sister from him. It had been her time, but I gave him hope of her survival. I was playing the role of the would-be betrayer, and him the ignorant fool caught up in his bliss. No. I would not put him through pain. He has shown me more care than I would have expected from a mortal. He is the first within centuries to acknowledge me past the fear or title.

He treated me like a person.

I felt a hand come to my wrists, with a flash of metal, the ropes binding them were cut. I looked up to see Tamaris smiling, hand extended. “Come one ya sprout, I wanna introduce you to some people.” I nodded slowly and took his hand. He led me to the hallway and up a set of wooden stairs. We came to a large room, pews and praying souls lined the walls. Some turned to see him as we emerged from the assumed basement. They looked at him and wonder and awe as he walked by.

It was unsettling to see their faces, their hope. Tamaris seemed slightly fazed by this but he soldiered on to a set of large doors at the end of the giant room.

Before we got to the door he turned to me. “Hey, so before we go out there I just want to prepare you.”

“Prepare me for what?”

He pursed his lips. “Well, you saw how the people were looking at me back there, right?” He inclined to the still watching souls. I nodded slowly for him to continue. “Here’s the thing,” he ran a hand through his hair. “They think I'm some kind of holy figure, a prophet of some kind for Andraste. It’s because of this.” He pointed to the green mark bright upon his skin. “I don’t know how I got it, but it closes rift.”

“Rifts?”

“They’re tears in the fade, small ones. But our hopes is with enough power we could eventually close the Breach.” With that, he opened the doors. The cold air of the mountains made my skin grow bumpy and my hair stand on end. A shiver went down my spine as flakes of snow trickled in past the doorway. Leading me outside, it was the sky I first realized. Dark clouds swirled around a large oval green light.

 The Breach.


	3. Admitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death/Salladin lets the metaphorical cat out of the bag on their true existence, then plays in the snow.

I could feel the power dance across my skin, the light from it almost blinding. The only shadows came from misted forms that speckled the sky. They floated around hovering close to the mountain, the place where the temple used to be. They then disappeared only to appear in another place. I felt a pull to them like they were calling me.

Shards. They were me or I was them.

I saw my misted form gliding around, I followed them with my eyes, taking every action. They were still collecting the souls of those who had perished. The sheer amount of them told me enough of the amount of devastation that occurred in this place. It flared slightly, as did the mark on Tamaris’ hand.

So many lives lost for such a simple magic.

“It’s terrifying isn't it?” He added.

“It’s daunting.” I looked at him. His face was turned up to the Breach, its green light lighting his more prominent features. “So much death.”

“Agreed.” He said solemnly before turning to me. “At least I have you.” He said with a smile. A small pit seemed to form in my stomach, I wasn’t sure how to describe it, but it edged me on to explain how I wasn’t. How she wasn’t.

“Tamaris,” I started as we began walking away from the large building down a snow covered path. “I have something to confess.” he raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“Yeeees?”

“It is difficult to put into simple wording.”

“Well, good thing I'm--” he straightened his back and posed himself with his chin and nose turned up. “A learned savage.” He said with a chuckle, his smile genuine. Was I really going to take that away from him? His happiness? Was I to be the trope of myself and take everything he holds dear? Does death not grant mercy as well?

Is strengthening his ignorance mercy?

Sighing, I fiddled with my hands. “I do not remember what it was like. To be here.” I gestured all around. It was true, I had never been a person, never had a solid form. This was the most socialization I have had in centuries. “I want to be a person.”

“I’m not following,” he said slowly. I looked around the village we now stood in the center of. Cabins of wood lined our way.

“Um. I forget how to be an elf. I don’t know how to be Salla.” I then turned to him, his confusion clear.

“You want to remember who you were before the Conclave.”

I paused for a moment. If I knew how this girl had lived, Tamaris can have his happiness. If I play the part of the elven girl, not the clueless possessed body, it would be for the best. Tamaris is happy and no one chases me with swords and pitchforks.

“I-Yes,” I stated. “I don’t know who Salla was, but I want to be enough of her so that I can…” So that I can what? Live a lie? What if he discovers my deceit? I would be putting him through more pain, more agony. “So that I-”

“So that you can go back to how things were.” He stated solemnly.

“In a sense,” I whispered as we came to the steps of a wooden cabin. Flags with a sword and eye stood guard outside the door. Tamaris went for the doorknob and opened to a large room with a single bed. There was a desk in the corner and a caged bird sitting on the floor. I followed Tamaris in. Light filtered in from the windows on either side. A large candle was lit on a bed stand beside the bed.

Tamaris turned to me and smiled. “Home sweet home, eh?” He flopped onto the bed. “Not as small or cozy as an aravel, but it keeps out the snow and wind.” He sat up from his laid out position. “I suspect Josephine will have a bed brought in as soon as possible.” Why would I need a bed? I had no need to sleep, I never had. Sleep was for beings with bodies when they needed to repair themselves and rest. 

Oh.

Letting out a sigh, I found my way to the desk. Taking a soft hand, I ran it over the wood. It was coarse and hard. Little flakes of wood stuck up from its surface. Pages littered the tops. Most of the pages were scripted with random symbols and scratches. But as I thumbed through the paper, words and phrases I had been taught long ago stood out amidst the other prints. As I picked up the familiar words, a piece of wood embedded itself into my finger.

“Oww!” I recoiled my hand back from the wood dropping the papers. Tamaris was up within a second. His concern pliable.

“Are you okay? What happened?” He questions reaching for my face then my hand. Turning over the palm of the bodies right hand, he eyed where the sliver of wood had lodged itself. “What’s it with you and slivers?” He asked casually. “You know, this is why Master Sud’vin never let you take up carving. You always got these blasted things and mother would always make _me_ take them out.” He said with a small chuckle as he pulled it from my new skin. Looking up to me his bright eyes slowly dimmed as he met my neutral gaze. “Well,” he cleared his throat. “You’re free to go,” he wiggled the little piece of wood in front of me. “No more pesky little slivers, eh?” I nodded in response. His jaw tightened then looked down to the pages that had fallen. 

Picking them up gingerly, he looked over the carefully worded pages. “These must be Solas’s notes.” He stated to no one in particular. “They’re in gibberish.” Tamaris then handed them to me. Scanning over the interact inked words I began to read for the first time in centuries.

“ _The elf has not responded to any form of rejuvenation regarding the mark. Magic still seems to flow freely from its core. If he is to have any chance at survival or if he’s too close the Breach, he needs to wake before the fortnight passes. Any time later than that can result in the stability of the mark and Breach to obeying his current power. The elf is no mage, but he still has a strong enough will and spirit that the Mark and its magic have not consumed him… yet. There are still considerations when it comes to the prisoner waking and attempting to close the Breach. That amount of power could kill him and destroy the magic held within the mark itself. It is a gamble, but one that is forced out of hand.”_  

I read off the words from the page as easily as if it were yesterday that ma’Falon had shown me each letter and their elegant design. How he had taught me the words of his people. It mattered not to me at the time, for I could not write nor had the need to. But it was beneficial in making ma'Falon happy.

“What did you just do?” Tamaris asked, mouth agape.

I cocked my head in confusion. “I simply read what it said.” Snatching the page from my hands, he looked over the note and words again.

“Is-- is that elvhen?” He asked looking up.

“Yes.”

He brought a hand to rub his face, “How do you know elvhen?!”

“I had learned it from a friend.” It was enough to go on, I hadn't lied to him nor had I told him the complete truth. To say that ma’Falon had taught me would give away my true nature. Nature which he would more or less despise.

“A friend.” He said skeptically holding out the page. “Just who might this friend be?”

Is this what they call unexpected? Or what the humans call “counting your chickens before they hatch?” I never was good at turns of phrases.

Pausing for a moment, I considered how far I was willing to dive into my lie. How far would I go before I could not turn back? I supposed I was at that point. I had been at that point when I had awakened in this form. It was all just leading downwards, towards the inevitable. Was I being overdramatic in this, though? My speculation and mind are now so free to roam that I have no control over my own thoughts.

“Falon’din.” I finally answered. The truth sweet upon my lips.

“Falon’din?” He responded slowly.

“Yes.”

“Um… How did you meet the God of the dead, Sal?”  He ran a hand through his hair and backtracked the bed, sitting on its edge. “And how’d ya get him to teach you Elvhen?”

Taking a breath in. An interesting way to hold a room at your beck and call yet necessary for life. How those two could be intertwined so perfectly I would have never guessed.

But now I’m distracting myself.

“I have not always been ‘Sal’,” I concluded. “I am here now, only in form. But before, before I was something more.”

“What?” His brows knitted together and his hands rested on his knees, the knuckles turning white. “Something more? Sal, what in the name of the Creators are you talking about!?”

“I am a spirit. Sort of. I was given form when she had touched the orb to try and save you.” I watched as his eyes fell to the floor, and his face went ashen.

"Sort of? How can you be sort of a spirit?" his tone was wavering.

"I am death."

"Death?" He questioned in almost disbelief.

"Yes. I was in the temple waiting for the time when the souls would need my service. I had not expected to end up as I am now. I had not expected to end up so- so- solid.” I gently touched where the fragment of wood had entered my skin. “I had expected to ever feel anything but what was felt by others.” I looked away from him in what I attributed to shame. “I am sorry for the deceit, it is not in my nature to withhold or prolong people's suffering, I just for some reason, wanted to not disappoint you.”

I waited for him to say something, anything. The seconds ticked by and I watched the rise and fall of his back until finally, he looked up at my eyes red. “So, what you’re saying is ...” his voice was caught in his throat, “you’re not Salla, you’re a spirit--death possessing her?”

“No. I am not possessing her, she is no longer a part of this form. To make it simple. I am a spirit that was pulled into a voided form.” I folded my hands in front of me. “You have my apologies for causing you any discomfort or--”

“Discomfort?!” He shouted springing from the bed. “You think that me losing the only thing I ever truly loved and protected in the world is a fucking discomfort?!” His hands flew up wildly, the green mark on his hand flaring at his emotion.

I lowered my head in submission. “I chose my words poorly.”

“Yeah, you fucking did.” He spat taking steps towards me. I did not move to counter or retreat. I stood my ground, my head still bowed. “So where’s my sister eh!? Is she still in there? Is she still--”

“Alive,” I added for him and he seemed to snap out of his rage for a moment, hands shaking.

“Yes...” He trailed off, voice on the verge of breaking.

“I am sorry, I sense no soul within this form. If she truly was still within it, either I would have her memories or she would have mine. I remember nothing but my own past existence. Nothing of hers.” I reached out to his shoulder for contact. That seemed right at this moment. To give him a form of comfort. “I am sorry Tamaris. She is gone.”

He did not pull away from my touch but was quiet for a moment. His breathing ragged and broken by small sobs. “Is she safe, though? Is she with the Gods?” He looked at me with earnest. Was I to tell him that his gods had no place in her soul's location nor well being? No. That would cause more pain would it no? If the truth of his sister's demise was anything to go by, the truth of his religion would be devastating on top of it.

“She is safe and at peace.” He nodded biting his lip. He moved so that he was back on his bed.

“Thank you.” He stated plainly. “Thank you for the truth.” He would not meet my eyes.

“Thank you for your understanding. I have not met a mortal in centuries that has taken me in such a way.”

 “Centuries, death...” he muttered to himself. “I-I need some time to myself-- to process everything.” I nodded along. “Without you,” he added. I cocked my head in question.

 Running a shaky hand through his hair, Tamaris looked to the door then back to me. I watched the odd exchange.

“You can go visit Haven, just--” he paused, looking me once over still trying to understand how this had all happened. “Don’t tell anyone what you are, you understand me? They’ll hurt you if they think you’re an abomination or demon. Make ‘em think you’re an elf. They should see the ears and think nothing odd about it.” I nodded and made my exit. Stepping out onto the cold snow and air was, in a way, refreshing. The air in the cabin had been stale and charged with a tension that was hard to describe.

As I walked across the path, flakes of snow came to land on my jackets shoulder. Taking a cautious finger I went to pick it up, only to have the little crystal melt on the tip of my finger. Only a cold and wet drop as evidence of its existence.

“How are you not cold, Snowflake?” A deep voice questioned ahead of me. Looking up to see a dwarf with his coat half open and a mat of hair erupting from its opening. He had light, almost orangish brown hair tied back into a loose ponytail. His wide dimpled chin wasn't freshly shaven by any means, but it seemed to add to a roguish look.  He had a tarnished soul. Once it had been light and carefree. But the years have not been kind to him nor fate in its deliverance. He was young at heart, orange and white mixing together in harmony. His melody that of a simple stringed instrument and flute piping and plucking away with joy. As the tune picked up the notes became deeper and heartier. This was his pain. This was his regret. As it started to slow, a somewhat familiar song started to sing. I hummed along to the song. It was different than the ones I had found in wardens. With their semi-coherent souls still trying to produce its light and song. This dwarf knew of the taints song, he had heard it once before and it was ingrained into his very being. 

I looked at him curiously, he had lived an odd life. I wondered what memories he held.

Looking back to my sleeve I returned my attention to the still falling snowflakes.

“Okay,” he said with confusion before clapping his hands. “You doing okay? Heard you had a run in with the Seeker?” He laughed. “She’s typically not the best one for gracious welcomes.” Another flake of snow had landed on me. This time, I studied the way the crystals form, looking at its simple yet intricate design. With a simple touch of my finger, the flake disappeared. “Guess I just got the cold shoulder.”

“Cold shoulder?” I questioned him, my attention not leaving the melting flakes.  

“Oh you know, the ‘being ignored’ and overlooked for a simple piece of frozen water is what I put into that category,” he said nonchalantly.

“I see.”

“You sure you’re okay kid?” The dwarf approached me cautiously as if I were a skittish cat. “It’s like you’ve never touched snow before.”

“I haven't,” I paused. No that was a lie. I had walked through the snow to get to the cabin. But had I ever truly touched it? With the soft skin of my hand? “Well, I have walked on it. But I don’t remember ever truly touching it.”

The dwarf shifted on his feet. “The memory loss got you down for the count to, eh? The Seeker had told me about that.” Letting out a heavy sigh he reached behind him and pulled out a pair of gloves and handed them to me. “If you’re going to play in the snow, at least take these. We don’t want the Herald of Andraste’s sister catching her death in this cold.”

“It's hard to catch death.”

The dwarf gave me a puzzled look. “Uh huh.” His hand was still outstretched with the gloves. I took them from him carefully. Turning over the rough leather in my hand.

I have no idea what to do now. I used the gloves as a barrier between me and the snow. Folding it in half before trying to pick up the snow with the glove. I heard the dwarf take a deep breath in. “You don't remember anything do you?” He said soothingly. I felt a hand come to my arm and pat it gently.

“I remember pain and green, so much green. But I know nothing of how I was before the Conclave.”

“Well shit. I bet Edge is taking that well.”

“Edge?” I questioned.

“Tamaris, I kind of have a ‘thing’ for nicknames. “ He gave me a small grin. “The names Varric Tethras, rogue, storyteller and occasionally adopter of lost elves.”

I cocked my head quizzically, “you adopt elves?"

“In a manner of speaking.” He then took the gloves from my hands. “I'm going to teach you all you need to know. Can't have you go around looking like an uncivilized elf. Ruffles would have a fit.” he took my hands and showed me how to put the gloves on. Giving me a pat on the back he chuckled. “Now for one of the more important lessons in life: how to play wicked grace.” He gave me a cheeky smile and gestured for me to follow him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Death/Salladin knows every tongue, it requires that knowledge to commune with those of every nation and culture upon their expiry. But Death/Salladin can only read in one, with thanks to the aid of their Falon.
> 
> Thank you all for reading. If anyone has any questions regarding the fic or any of my others, feel free to message me on AO3 or Tumblr. (url: the-queen-of-thedas )


	4. Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Saladin and Varric go to the Tavern, and the Spymaster has to question Varric a bit, but all is well. Varric takes Salladin to the resident fade nerd.
> 
> All Elvhen is in Italics unless specified otherwise.

We walked down a short sand path. It was a sharp contrast to the crisp white snow on either sides. The dwarf lead us to a building made of wood, music could be heard from outside. With a large calloused hand, Varric opened the door to the building, and the smell and sound engulfed me. My nose stung with the smell of alcohol, sweat and something that made my stomach seem to growl. The clanging of glasses, laughter and a bard’s lute playing a simple tune were among the more noticeable of the sounds in the room.  Varric called out to one of the woman behind a long and high table off the other side of the room. His voice almost being lost in the abyss of wood, alcohol, and music.

I followed the dwarf over to an empty table and took a seat. A dark brown haired woman who Varric had assumedly called after was at their side with a mug of sloshing brown liquid and a bowl of what looked like chunky meat and water. She was dimmer than Varric, soul wise at least; but her tune was upbeat and calming. A light yellow seemed to give her a halo as she looked me over.

“Ya got any coin?” She asked crudely, hands on her hips. Coin. I had never had need of it before. Mortals would do anything for the simple currency. The number of lives I had to watch wasted away or cut short because of the temptation that coin and gold had brought. I shook my head. The human then turned to Varric, brow raised in expectation.

 

“Don’t fret Flissa, I got her covered.” He said with a deep laugh. “Just put it on my tab.”

 

“Yer tab, eh? Ya mean the one you still haven't paid off yet?”

 

The dwarf raised his hands in defense. “Don’t worry, you know I’m good for the gold. It’s just taken a little longer than anticipated with the Breach and all to contact the Guild.”

 

“Uh huh.” She said skeptically before turning the conversation to me. “What can I get ya, deary? Something strong so you don’t have to put up with this lump’s company?”

 

“A broth and water would be fine,” Varric answered.

 

Flissa turned to him shaking her head. “Oye, I wasn't talkin’ to ya. I was talking to the elf. So what can I get ya?” I looked to Varric, a smug look stricken across his face. He was thumbing his chin while looking between the two of us.

“I-I don’t know,” I said plainly. “I’ll have whatever he’s having.” I nodded to Varric.

“Whatever you'd like deary.” With that, Flissa scowled at Varric once again before leaving. She returned promptly with another one of the mugs of sloshing liquid and a bowl of the watery meat. She also gave me tools to eat it with, a wooden spoon and fork. I looked doubtfully at both the liquid and meat. Was this even edible?

“It’s not going to bite you Snowflake, Flissa’s cooking isn't that bad.” He joked and took a utensil from his bowl and began to eat. I watched in fascination as he skillfully captured the liquid of the soupy meat in the spoon and raised it to his mouth with ease. Shaking my head, I picked up the spoon. Mimicking his movement, I tried to bring the food to my mouth. My arm moved too fast and the liquid fell back into the bowl. I sighed and tried again. This time slower and with more concentration. Varric had stopped eating to watch me. When I had let the liquid slip from the spoon once again I dropped the utensil in the bowl and groaned in frustration. I felt a leather gloved hand make contract with my arm. I looked up to see Varric, the epitome of concern. “Hey, kid, it’s going to be okay.” I looked back at the bowl.

He took my hand and placed the fork in it. “Now just stab it.” He gestured to the chunk of meat in the bowl. Sighing I did as he instructed and pierced the meat. “Hey! See you’re getting there. Now just bring it to your mouth like this--” he demonstrated with an imaginary fork. I did as instructed, opening my mouth wide enough. I clamped down on the fork and pulled the meat off the tongs. It was strange, salt and spices bite at my tongue as I fully grasped the flavour of the meat. “Good, now chew and swallow.” He instructed. I began to chew and crush the meat with my teeth, flavours and juices seemed to erupt in my mouth. I moaned at the taste. I could never have imagined how delicious food could be. Swallowing, I opened my eyes to see a smiling Varric watching me.

With a new found hunger and determination I finished the meal. The dreaded spoon was still an issue, but Varric showed me how to drink the juice straight from the bowl. He said it was uncivilized, but easier than starving to death before I actually figured out how to use a spoon.

I watched as he drank his sloshing brown liquid then proceeded to down mine. He said that I just wasn't ready for the kick of dwarven ale just yet. Something about me having to adjust myself to it before I tried the heavy duty stuff. I didn’t understand what he meant but I shrugged and nodded along. It was surprising how well that worked for you. If you didn’t understand all you had to do was nod along and the other person would be none the wiser to your shortcoming.

Flissa came by once again to collect our bowls, mugs, and utensils. “So you two enjoy your meal?”

I nodded earnestly. “Yes, thank you. It was the best food I believe I have ever tasted.” I looked up at her innocently. He cheeks flushed red and she gave me a small smile.

“Aww, well I can tell why Varric keeps you around, flatterer.” She looked over to Varric, inclining her head. “You watch over this one ya? I want to see her again, make sure you bring her back. I think I could use a couple more compliments when it comes to cooking for y’all.”

“Wouldn’t dream of keeping her away, Flissa,” Varric smiled.

“Oye, Lady Nightingale wants to see you alone. Said it was important.” Flissa added walking away. Varric groaned then stood up. He looked to me then back to Flissa who was already behind the large table. He grumbled under his breath before he gestured for me to follow his out of the wooden building.

He led me up a set of stairs to where three cabins stood in a hollow box. He went to the one to the right and knocked on the door.

___

“A moment.” A deep voice came from behind the wooden door. The sound of a book being closed came before the squeaked of rusted hinges opening. A tall elf stood in the doorway. A neutral expression rested on his high cheek bones. Steel eyes looked unamused at the disturbing. He worse loose fitted cotton robes. A green vest was thrown overtop of his shoulders to keep the chill away.

Green, so much green. I had to blink back the light he emitted, his melody soothing and familiar. He had been a spirit at one point, deep pride. Tinges of the colour dotted the outside of the green light. It was so unique, so familiar. Too familiar.

“I remember you,” I said in realization.

The elf nodded. “I healed you after you had fallen from The Breach. I am glad to see you yet live. Now if you both would excuse me, I have research to attend to, good day.” he said going to close the door.

That couldn't have been it. I recognized the tune, something from long ago. A hand stopped the door from shutting completely.“Always the best at introductions aren't we, Chuckles?” Varric joked, interrupting my thoughts.

“It is no fault of mine if this is how I continue to meet a member of the Dalish,” Chuckles retorted and opened the door once again.

“Ha! Right? It's basically raining elves these days.” The tall elf chuckled softly. I couldn't help but smile at the sound, it was comforting in a way. “Alas, I didn't come all this way to discuss the water with you.” Varric motioned to me. “I have to go see the Spymaster and Snowflake here needs someone to watch her.” The elf's brow raised in question. Varric seemed to understand his confusion. “She doesn't remember anything before The Breach. Anything.” He placed emphasis on the last word. The elf nodded slowly and stood to the side allowing me entry. The room was a moderate size. A desk was placed in the corner like Tamaris's cabin, though this room had a smaller bed and a large shelf that was packed with leather bound books. Along the wall rested a mage’s staff and a travelling pack.

“I see.” The elf concluded. “You will be returning soon, I presume.” I loved to the wall where the staff rested. I could feel the magic emanating from the wood and crystal at the top.

“As soon as I write down enough to appease the Nightingale, then I'll slip away.” He gave a reassuring pat on his back. “Just go do whatever you elves do.  But remember,” he gave the both of them a wink and a cheeky grin, “she is the Herald's sister after all.”

The elf rolled his eyes, “We appreciate your concern dwarf, but your concern is not needed.” With that he closed the door in Varric face then turned to me. I reached back from the staff to meet his steel blue eyes. He was studying me, watching my every movement with vigor. I placed my hands in front of me clasped together.

He cleared his throat before making his way towards the bookshelf. “I am Solas if there are to be introductions.” He traced his hand along the spines of tomes.

“Pride,” I stated plainly. His hand stopped its skimming, but his back was still to me.

“You know Elvhen.” He stated in monotone.

“Yes.”

The elf gave me a doubtful side glance, "Is that so?" the corner of his lip perked up in what could be classified as a wolfish grin.  “ _Tell me, how much do you truly understand? It is easy to claim knowledge of something long ago lost. It is another matter to put it to use._ ” Pride questioned.

I took a moment of pause. Hadn't this been how the truth of my nature come to light to Tamaris? But Pride had spoken it, did that mean it was okay to respond in kind? If he was a spirit born, then he would be as old as the language. Or at least have a reasonable knowledge of it. “ _I understand your every word. I have never claimed to know more then what I knew how to do.”_ The elf spun to meet my gaze, his neutral mask slipping in amazement or surprise. It was difficult to differentiate.

He searched my face for some sort of reaction. “ _You know the language of The People, yet you bear the markings of the_ Dalish.”

“ _I know The People's tongue, I know many tongues. This , though, is the only one at which I can read and script in. But I am no_ Dalish." I stopped myself. I wasn't Dalish, Salla was. Not I. Biting my cheek my hand moving to this bodies face. Where the slave markings were inked into its, my skin. " _We_ _ll at least not in existence, but in body. I believe I am Dalish if we consider it physically,”_ Solas cocked his head in question.

“ _What are you in existence?”_

_“I cannot say.”_

_“You do not know?”_

_“No.”_ I stated plainly. “ _I am not allowed to say.”_

Solas crossed his arms and leaned back against the shelf. “ _On whose order?”_

 _“Tamaris's,"_   I stated. " _He_ _said they would hurt me if they found out.”_ I couldn’t help but agree. I had met too many mages that were thought to be possessed by demons only to be sick or unstable. It was hard to watch as every race condemned one another to death for the outlining behaviour. They attributed many things to magic and demons when that was hardly ever the case. Many times it was just the fault of the situation of the mortals mental health. How many mages had I escorted away from towers with scars on their bodies because of the pain the templars had put them through, only to be condemned as a blood mage?

As much as death could never take side, it had always seemed a cruel fate. To be hated for your very nature. To be feared for what you were born as.

It had not always been so, freedom was hard won, but plentiful. You were placed into a class based on your status at birth, but you were always able to raise yourself above it. It was how the world worked. With enough will and perseverance, you could achieve a status worthy of your effort. Today, you could work yourself to the grave yet still not shift up or down.

“ _I promise friend, no harm will come to you from me.”_ The elf reassured. I bit my lip in conflict. Risk and reward. A fool’s gambit.

Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.

_“I am similar to you. I haven't always been just Elven.”_

I watched as he processed my meaning before his eyes narrowed and brows came to meet together in the middle. _“How did you know?”_ The questions left his lips breathlessly.

How could I explain to him the way I see? The way that I have always seen. If not for Falon’din, I would have assumed every mortal could see as I do. But to do so, they’d be able to perceive me. Even when some could see me. It was difficult for them to learn my way of vision without me being there to aid their sight.

Breaking away from my thoughts I answered the elf. _“Your soul. It has a certain song, a melody. The colour is unique as well. Green and purple. A combination so familiar but distant.”_

_“You can see souls?”_

_“Yes, and hear them.”_

Solas paused for a moment, “ _you are like Falon'din in that way._ ” He stated.

I nodded. “ _Yes, He learnt it from me._ ”

 _“You taught Falon’din?”_ His tone skeptical.

 _“Yes,”_ I stated. _“I taught him to see as I see, taught him to listen as I listen, taught him to wait as I wait.”_ Solas put a hand to his chin and regarded me with such rigor.  

I remember the first time I had met the so called ‘God of the Dead’. He was a young boy at the time. Not even out of his 2nd decade. He hadn't even been given the name and title of Falon’din till this moment. In this time he and his soul brother later named Dirthamen were simply called Falon and Amelan. Both elves had been sent out on a hunt. They had been tracking a stag for about three or four days before I had caught up with them. The two were overjoyed that were being given the opportunity to engage in the hunt. It was such a rare occurrence for the two to escape their lessons and spend time together as like souls.

They were showing off to one another constantly. Seeing who could notch an arrow the quickest, who had the best aim or my personal favourite of ‘Is that edible?’. I had felt a strange sort of warmth watching them try and prove to one another. When they had finally tracked the stage down to a valley, they agreed to out their shenanigans aside for the sake of the hunt.

Both elves stalked the stag to a perfect trap. Where the edge of a fast flowing river and the walls of the valley met. It was too steep for the stag to climb, and the water was moving too fast for it to have a chance in the river. It was trapped.

Dirthamen notched his bow and arrow, his aim true, the stag fell to the elfs skill. As the two approached Falon’din, took out a dagger and ended the stags life painlessly. I came to their side and went to collect the stags soul. It was then that Falon cried out upon seeing me. I remembered it as if it were mere moments ago, yet the haze of time clouded aspects.

I could not remember if he was scared or not. Just that he was surprised. His soul brother questioned what he was witnessing and Falon had to simply describe me to the other elf. The look that they had shared, oh that look. Amelans face was curious as ever, while Falon was simply amazed. He asked who and what I was. Being overjoyed in that simple fact of communication I did not hesitate in revealing my identity. I was Din’an to him. Death.

But I could not stay for pleasantries. The soul of the stag was still within my grasp. Falon had asked after it. Wondering what a soul would look like. Taken aback I realized that mortals did not see all as I saw. It was humbling to note that they would go their entire lives never seeing and hearing the colours, tunes, and memories of those around them. I told him this and he begged me to teach him.

To show him how to see the world as I saw. I did not know if I could do that. But I made him the promise to try. Letting his aura merge with mine for a moment, he gained that ability. He watched the stags soul try desperately to jump up and run and play. He listened to the melody of his soul brothers song. But he was not the only one to gain in that exchange.

I could feel new emotions for the first time, wonder and amazement. I could dive into his memories and watch his life up until this moment. All the joys and pains. I was enthralled with it. The very perception of mortals and how they simply were.

But my own opinions aside, I still had my duty. I thanked Falon for the experience and he begged me to stay, to show him more. I told him that I could not stay, but I would teach him. With that, I spirited the soul away to the void.  And over the years I watched the two boys grow from children to men. I remained in touch with Falon, teaching him skills and unique abilities that he would one day use to rise above his station. In return, he offered me company, company that allowed me to feel more or less like a person. He would look upon me and it felt like every time I would tend to a soul in their final moments. Their final moments when they could see me.

Eventually, both the elves took new names, names that history remembers even to this day. Amelan took the name Dirthamen, he eventually was renowned for his hoarding of knowledge and secrets. He was a bright mind, and soul alike. Always a spark or spirit of curiosity and inquisitiveness about him. Ma’Falon took the name as well: Falon’din. He said that it was in my honor that he took it. All the ways to see and help souls aided in his reputation for being just that: ‘The Friend of the Dead’. On the day when the Pantheon of the Elves officially took power over much older souls, I watched as my friend ascended golden steps to sit upon a dragon bone and old tree styled throne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter is being posted so late, it's been wild with work and life. I did 6 days of work in 3 days. it didn't leave much time for me to sit down and write. 
> 
> I just wanted to thank everyone for their comments and kudos, they give me life and motivation. I hope everyone had a great weekend!
> 
>  
> 
> Also for the "Better a witty fool than a foolish wit" is a quote from Shakespeare's The Twelfth Night/


	5. Fading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death/Salladin starts to remember bits from the Conclave. Solas is as inquisitive as always. 
> 
> Warnings/ triggers for PTSD

I could never forget my friend, ma’falon. He had always been to his servants and slaves. Some might even say her was second to The Great Mythal. In his care for those below her. But even then there was pain. As the centuries went on and Falon'din grew in power and grace. He changed.

Unsatisfied with his amount of worship, he would amass followers by charmed words and a war that lasted many years. Years that set members of the Pantheon apart, years that ended up lasting centuries. Elves would flock to his temples seeking assurance in their possible demise. Eventually it became too much. His lust for power outweighed his intentions and the other members of the Pantheon bloodied him in his own temple. He went into Uthenera for decades before he reawakened as a seemingly a new elf.

He returned to being the elf I had known in his youth, generous and kind. But there was still a darkness to him. Something that picked at his melody and soul. It was anger and betrayal. Ma’Falon became paranoid about the others, eventually secluding himself from The People and other Pantheon. Even his soul brother could not lure him from his self-induced exile.

I tried to comfort him when my duty permitted it, but Ma’Falon would have none of my company. It was me he was paranoid for. He refused to even acknowledge me, thinking that simply a conversation would result in his demise.

Eventually, the elf forgot everything I had taught him. When he reemerged from the exile he was met with this realization. He pleaded with me to show him once again, to show him how to see and hear. But I denied him the knowledge, denied him the power. I would not put him through that again. I would not put the world through that again.

I relinquished my own desires of being treated as a person and abandoned the ‘God of the Dead’. When the great empire came crashing down through wars and strife, I stood by the side of the elf who would one day be known as the Great Betrayer. I watched as he constructed the veil, locking the Pantheon and their corruption away from the world.

My mind buzzed and the memories were hazy, but they were there.

The elf, tall and proud, stood at the top of a fortress clad in a wolf’s pelt and fine robes. His steel eyes were tired from the strain of his plan and the stress of his rebellion. His melody showed the weight of his burdens. A strong tune but also a dark lullaby. A symphony of choices and decisions, all unsure, but made in false confidence. Looking over the world his soul flared with the magic as he began to weave an intricate spell. His soul of purple and green.

So much green.

Green engulfing the world as he cut the waking from the dreaming.

When he cut death from life.

Dark spots of green

When he saved the world

Skies and tendrils of magic green

When he doomed the world

Green, too much green.

Bringing my mortals hands to my face I tried to shake the memory out of my mind. The body’s pulse raced and its breathing grew ragged as I tried to get away from the colour. That colour. No. visions of the Conclaves explosion were seared into my mind. The phantom pains of my own existence being forced into _this_ form echoed through the foreign limbs. Its knees buckled under the strain.

I felt a hand on the bodies back supporting its weight. A deep voice cooed in its ear as my mind tried to rid itself of that colour. The colour of the soul before me.  

“No!” I said pushing the colour away from me. I fell to the floor without the hand's support. The bodies knees tucked up against its chest. The bodies head pounding as if it were a drum. Wrapping its long limbs around its legs, I hid in the comfort of the flesh that was now mine.

“Easy Da’len,” It said calmly. I watched the soul approach the colour still radiating from it. But it was a mixture of another. Purple. My mind went blank as I tried to focus of the purple along the edges. The bodies breathing slowed. I felt the hammering in its head ease to a simple thumping. “Shhh, be calm, lethallan, be calm.” Both colours faded to just a flicker as I looked up to the elf whose face was twisted with concern. His steel eyes brimmed with worry and confusion. Steel eyes that once held so much burden.

Taking a shaky breath I unwrapped _my_ self from _my_ limbs; breathing still uneven. Was this what it was to be mortal? To remember the pain you have faced not just the memory? A memory that could send you back to that pain, that agony. A memory where you had no control or way out. Was it to be trapped inside your mind as a way to never occur again, a lesson to be learned? Or was it something more?

I placed a hand on my chest and felt the thudding of a heart just under the skin. A heart. A heart that was mine, but wasn’t. A heart that loved once. A heart that was hers. A heart that kept her from meeting me.

My breathing picked up again, I sucked in breath quickly and closed my eyes as the pain returned to my head. It was if something was pushing against my forehead. Pressure building like a dam about to burst. I wanted to run, but my legs wouldn’t lift me.I wanted to scream, but my throat was dry.

“You need to stay calm, your magic will overpower you.” A voice cut through the fog forming around my mind. Magic? No. I had no magic. Did I? Did she? The girl that I had taken over, this body. Did it have magic? “Nuven'in ea’atish. Sathan.” The voice cut through again. It took to much to remember the words learned so long ago. Words that once had meaning but no longer hold substance. Words of friends and praises. Words that have long lost their voices.

“Words from voices. Voices from friends. Friends from death. Death from… from where?” I felt a warmth spreading along my palm. A voice calling out. Then black.

White. Not green. Thankfully, not green.

But it was white, everything was white. I could make out the vague outline of where the floor met the wall. Doing a 360 spin, I noted four walls as my cage. I drifted over to on wall and reached out to touch it. But no limb followed my will. Strange, the body I was in typically went with what I willed it to do, I had walked here, hadn’t I? Looking down to where this body should be expecting to see a limb or something. But no. Nothing.

It would seem that I was a formless being once again. With no body beneath me nor fleshy walls to hold me. I was free. Free to explore, free to roam. Drifting towards the opposite walls I went to make my exit. Expectantly I ran into the white barrier only to be met with the surfaces resistance. If I had no body, how could I not go through the wall, no physical barrier could stop a simple existence, besides magic. But even then it would take incredible power and skill to do so for a being such as myself. Death was not so easily trapped.

“How can you be that of which that has nothing?” a questioning voice rang through the room.

“Hello?” I questioned testing my voice. It was strong, and like that, I had with the body. It was clear and only wavering in its uncertainty. My voice echoed off the walls. I saw no one here, nor did I feel any presence of a soul. I could not see any light or hear any melodies. It was all to white and silent.

Where was I that I could not hear even the whisper of a soul? Where I couldn’t see the hues of creatures existence. What was this place?

“It is the fade.” The voice called from behind me. I spun to see who the answer had come from to see a woman, or at least a woman's form. She seemed human in every way, save for the glowing skin. Her body radiated a soft blue, as did her clothes. They were a simple toga styled robes, with foot wrappings going up its legs. Following up the robes you came to the figures face, short cropped hair framed its face and where her eyes should have been were merely empty sockets aglow with a bright blue flame.

If what the figure had said was correct, then that would mean I was in the dreaming. But this was not the dreaming I remembered from all those years ago. All those years when the waking and the dreaming had been one. This was stagnant, and a stark white. The dreaming had always been full of colour and shifting magic. It was a place of rebirth and beginnings not a white room. There was nothing to oppose me, nothing.

“This is not the dreaming I remember. There is no life here.” I spoke, my voice now hollow. The woman cocked her head in question then floated towards me.

“You remember when there was no veil.” She paused for a moment as if in consideration. “Yes, that would make sense. You have a physical vessel, but your own soul, no, that's not the right word. You feel empty but full.”

“I exist.”

“That much is confirmed, but within what entity?” she questioned. “You have no body, but you are solid. You are no spirit for you have none.” I questioned that myself. How could I have no form yet still be as the woman had said: solid? I had been unable to make my way through the walls like a spirit or formless mist. It was perplexing. “It is quite perplexing isn't it?” Her voice rang out. How had she known my thoughts? My own puzzlement?

“I am a spirit of Wisdom, friend,” the form said simply. It was an obvious answer, why I had not come to its conclusion sooner baffled me. If the floating entity in front of me was a spirit and I was in the fade, that begged the question as to why Wisdom and I were here. As if on cue, the spirit answered my thoughts. “I came at the request of a friend, when you had blacked out from pain.”  

“I had blacked out?”

Wisdom nodded. “Yes. It seems you had an anxiety attack. My friend tried to calm you before you could cause harm to anyone or yourself. He asked me to come and search for you.” Pride. The spirit was talking about Pride. It had to have been. I had been so far gone with my own memories and past that I had lost control.

“But is he safe now? Is Pride still alive?” I needed to know. Had I killed him by accident? Is that what losing control meant for me? When I was simply death, it was easy to cut the soul from the body. I feared to do it for the repercussions of fate and destiny, but it was necessary in some instances.

Had I killed Solas? The elf had been so kind, skeptical, but kind. He had let me into his cabin and indulged me in the words of times lost.

“No, da’len, Pride yet lives. He is currently trying to find his way to us as we speak. Though I assume it would be difficult for him given the amount of isolation you have forced upon yourself.”

“Isolation?”

“Yes,” the spirit responded, rather matter-of-factly. “You placed yourself in this room. You created it from your imagination. From your experiences.” It gestured around to the empty room. Walls still a stark white.

Had I imagined this? Had I created this from my own thoughts? I looked around at the room in wonder. I had created something. I did not destroy it, but instead made it my own.”I made this?” My voice seemed bewildered at the idea.

“Yes, da’len. You created everything in this room, save for me. Have you never been to the fade before?”

“No.” The words hollow as I reached out, as if with a limb, to touch the walls. As I made contact, an opaque hand started to form. I recoiled back. The form of the hand still transparent.

“You are learning fast then, da’len.” The spirit noted. I looked over to the floating form as it regarded me as if I were a bug under a microscope.

Taking the hand I imagined, an arm like that the body I inhabited had. It formed as if almost instantaneously. From there I went on to picture in my mind's eye the rest of the body. Two hands, two legs, two feet, a neck, shoulders, 10 digits, 10 toes. I even gave myself a face. It wasn't in great detail. It was merely the one that I remembered from the Conclave. The face with Falon'din's markings etched into them. Bringing my now solid hand to my face I felt the smooth skin of my cheeks.

“It would be advised for you to also materialize clothes. It would be for modesty's sake.” The spirit informed. I looked over to it, as it was clad in toga styles robes. Imagining the fabric and style on my body, I felt the material materialize and drape over my skin.

“Is this what all aspects of creating are like? That it is as easy as imagining my goal and it would happen?”

“To a few, yes; It is as easy as the snap of a finger. But to many, in this age specifically, it requires great focus and will. You seem to posses neither.”

“It would seem you are correct, ma falon.” A dark from seemed to call out. It approached from the opposite corner of the room. The very air around it shifting to its presence. I could feel the magic rolling of the form as it solidified in front of me.

Solas’s eyes pierced through the form, and before my eyes could blink. He stood before me. Clad in the same clothes he wore when he had greeted Varric and I at the door. His hands were clasped behind him as he glided across the white room to us. The elf regarded me with such curiosity, his brows narrowed to a point that a crease had formed between them. “You continue to surprise and bewilder.” The mage’s voice sharp as if it were more of an accusation than statement.

“Many find me that way. A mystery until the time arises for it to come to a conclusion.”

“And what conclusion would they come to?”

“The truth.” Solas raised a brow then cocked his head forward, his chin angled down at me.

“You are answering in riddles, da'len.” His voice was firm. I bit my lip in agitation. Was I going to betray Tamaris’s request at the probing of another? Was I that weak that I could not hold my own ground against a spirit born? No. I would manage. Tamaris deserves no betrayal. Not after the kindness he’d shown me, not after the understanding that had transpired.

My tone harsh. “I answer what I wish, Pride.” The statement took him and me likewise aback. He seemed to understand, but the way he looked at me remained the same. He looked back to the spirit then to me.

“Ma nuvenin, lethallan.” He paused for a moment and then said, “But first tell me something.” He waved his hand in front of him in a sweeping motion. The scene changed from the white room I had constructed to a lush green forest. Trees soared high above my head, green leaves let light trickle in slowly through the canopy. The sound of exotic bird echoed through the forest as the smell of pine engulfed me. “Out of every memory, experience or dream you’ve had, why pick a white room? Why create a stagnant setting?”

It wasn’t stagnant, was it? It was crisp and white, true, but it was still mine. I had created it. It was the first thing I had ever created that did not have people in mourning or anger. It is my first creation. I did not even understand how I had made it be, let alone know the reasons behind it.

“Falon, I don’t believe she knows why ” the spirit added. “She claimed she had never been to the fade before.” It drifted between Pride and me, it's blue, glowing head turned towards the spirit born.

“Yet she possesses an unprecedented amount of control over it,” he said, in an aside. “Unless she has no memo-” He seemed to stop mid-thought then sidestepped the spirit glaring at me. “Varric claimed that you had no memories before the Breach yet you were able to converse in elvhen and even claim to have know Falon’din. Either that means you were lying to Varric, but given the child of the stone knack for lying, and spotting it. I am to believe that he was telling the truth. You know nothing of this times customs. I’m assuming that would be behind the dwarf’s statement of ‘ _anything’_.” I watched at he formulated a possibility in his mind, the words and story almost spinning himself. I could encourage him, I could give him enough to justify the story. But I assume he wouldn’t stop searching. He wouldn’t no matter how well crafted the tale, truly believe it without a hard sought truth or fact. But a simple encouragement might be enough of a bone for him to chew on.

“I did not lie to Varric, he was correct in his assessment of my lack of knowledge.” I paused. “And I did not lie to you.”

“I see.” The elf nodded slowly, his hand being brought to his chin. The spirit up on his left and laced a glowing hand on his shoulder. He glanced over at it and they shared a knowing look. He nodded and the spirit disappeared into the forest. The glow of its skin swallowed by the lush green of the foliage. Finally, Solas turned back to me. “We can help you,” he stated.

“Do I require aid?” I questioned.

He let out a deep chuckle that echoed around us. “Is that a serious question?” I looked down at my solid feet. Something twisted inside me, deeming that the only suitable action.

“I believe so,” I responded meekly.

“You have no way of coping with the age as the world knows it if I-we were to teach you the basic understanding and ways to manage… It would be a mutual solution.” I looked up to him.

“If I am to understand that deal, I would be the only one to benefit.”

Solas’s lip turned up at the corner. “All that I would ask is that you answer one question with a straightforward answer.” I bit my lip. I didn’t know how to proceed. Should I take his deal? I would know how to use a fork, how to act accordingly. Isn’t that what Tamaris wanted in the end? For them to see me as a normal elf, as someone that wasn’t different from the rest? It was. I wasn’t defying him in that respect, it was more along the lines of working my around his instructions. A loophole to put into mortal terms.

Solas was watching my inward battle as I fought on what to decide. In that time, the spirit had returned, though along with it was another in a similar form but just an orange colour. It’s face was different as well. Where the blue spirit has softer features. It was if this new orange one was nothing but a glowing skull atop a body.

“I have brought them, my friend.” The blue spirit led the new one past the large trunks of the trees so that we were all in a strange sort of circle. The spirits clearly on the side of Solas.

“Ma serannas Wisdom, and welcome Archivist.” The orange spirit nodded to him before turning towards me.

“You know so much, yet nothing. All knowledge you have is second hand at best. You live off of gaining it, gaining the memories, the thoughts, the music. We have met before, though not in this light. I am shocked to see you have taken a form. I would not have thought that possible.”

“I was not aware we had met before,” I stated. I had never met a spirit like this. I knew of some, but none that truly see me. Without Falon’din teaching some of his more trusted spirit companions or slaves the ways of my sight, spirits would have been as oblivious to me as mortals.

“I was Study at the time of our meeting. I was not as I am currently. I was whole, not a shard like I am now.” I cocked its head at me. “I believe we have that in common then.”

“I am still a part of my whole,” I stated.

“That is debatable.” Its words were spoken in monotone as it turned towards Wisdom and Solas. “You keep surprising company, wolf.”

“So I am discovering.” The spirit nodded then took my solid hand before looking back to Pride. Taking this as his cue, he turned to me.  “Have you come to a conclusion, lethallan?” he questioned.

I nodded curtly, feeling the buzzing energy of the spirits form on mine. “I accept your proposal, Pride.” With a nod from Solas to the once spirit of Study, orange light consumed my body traveling up my arm. It was warm to the touch, and it was comforting until the light reached my neck, then pain started to tingle at the back of my skull.

Then it all came at once

Memory after memory, skill after skill. I was gaining them all. How to eat, how to sleep, how to use the washroom, how to run, how to fight even how to use a spoon! It was all there in the blink of an eye. It was if I had known this all along, that these memories, this knowledge was simply just being revealed. Like blowing dust off the top of an old tome.

A tome, I could read.

Letters and words floated towards me, their meanings clear. Letting out a shaky breath, I watched as the light subsided and my head buzzed from the overload of information. I collapsed to the group, my hands and knees barely supporting my weight. I fought to keep my eyes open.

Solas was at my side in an instant, a hand helping to steady me. I looked up at him and tried to push away the pain in my mind. Swaying back his steel blue eyes trapped mine. They were searching for an answer to a question not even asked yet.

“What- What is your question.” I managed. My words seemed to almost swirl out of my mouth. Was that even possible? Words had no form-

I was getting off topic.

Steadying myself. I managed to gain traction against Pride;s cotton tunic so that I could rest on my calves. With a few deep inhales I could feel the throbbing in my head subside slowly.

“The question can wait till your health has improved, lethallan.” He stated. I waved him off. No. he had fulfilled his end of the bargain, not it was my turn.

“I can manage.”

Reluctantly the elf looked to each of his spirit companions before settling on me. “If that is what you wish.” He inclined his head. “What is your nature?” without skipping a beat I answered in truth.

“I am death.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that the chapter is a day late, yesterday was a cluster of due dates. At least this chapter is a little longer then the other, hopefully that makes up for it. Your comments and kudos give me life and motivation, thank you all so much!
> 
> If anyone has any suggestions for the fic and any scene they think would be cute to add, just message me on tumblr (the-queen-of-thedas) or leave a comment.


	6. Showing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who see's a younger form of themselves putting up the veil? Guess who comes to the door? Guess who shows off their spoon capabilities?

 

Solas POV

‘Death’ he tossed the word in his mind. How could this elf before him be a force of nature? How could this elf, this _Dalish_ elf he reminded himself, be the the very embodiment of death? Something that had been present since the beginning of time. He shook his head and brought his hand up to his face in contemplation.

This was not possible, was it? Death was not a matter of spirit. It was a way of life, the end of things. It wasn’t something you could hold in your hands, it wasn’t an aspect of personality. You could be grim, yes. But not dead. That was an entirely new set of existence. He questioned their honesty on the statement. This wasn’t possible but it was.

The Archivist even confirmed it in a way. They had known each other in Arlathan, there’s the age aspect. But what if they were just a confused spirit that happened to serve Falon’din, a spirit that took the form of this dalish elf. Maybe through possession or in another similar manner. It was a unique case, but it could be thought out logically. But death taking a body? It would have needed a form to do so, a form that could be merged with a mortal body. It was obvious by Tamaris’s recognition of the girl that she hadn’t made the body. So possession looked to be the only answer.

The elf was still taking heavy breaths as her thighs rested on her calves. Whatever was inside her, the soul, or the spirit, had adapted well to the body. She/they had appeared like a normal elf, though given Varric’s insight as to her ‘little to no basic knowledge’, it would seem that they hadn’t resided in the body for an overly extended period of time.

But that begs the question. How did the ‘Herald of Andraste’ come to know about his sister being replaced with death? It must have been before the Breach then, that would be the only answer. Her reluctance to tell me is an obvious reason as to why it would take coaxing for it to be revealed. But then how long would that mean death had been a part of the elf’s body? Was the soul of the original elf still in there, similar when a spirit and mortal join? Did they merge together as one or would the ‘spirit’ being death change that aspect? On many occasions when a spirit joins with a mortal, the meaning of the spirit would enhance the same meanings within the mortal, that or it would warp it. A spirit of wisdom could easily be corrupted when merging to be a spirit of pride, a spirit of justice to a spirit of vengeance, a spirit of faith into a spirit of zeal.

“If you are truly death,” he started, the elf's head snapped to his gaze.

“I am,” she stated plainly.

Solas nodded and pursed his lips. “How did you come to be in the body of a Dalish elf?” He watched as the girl looked around at the forest that surrounded them. The tall trees looming over them like guardians. Her regard finally returned to Solas and she stood.

“At the Conclave. I was there to watch, to wait, to listen.”

“As an elf?” He interrupted for clarification.

“No. As what I am. Death.” Solas nodded slowly in comprehensions. So she/it had been merged at the Conclave. That much power to open his orb and tear open the veil. Was it enough to make even death take a mortal form?

“So you became a mortal during the explosion or merely at the Conclave?”

“In the explosions, I believe.” His eyes seemed to glass over for a moment before she shook her head and brought a hand up to the bridge of her nose. “I had been waiting to collect to souls of those that were bound to die. I had only known that one untainted soul was to survive the explosion. When two elves burst through the door, I had not expected that upon collecting the girl's soul that she would somehow pull me in.” Her voice fell flat at the remembrance; wisdom was at her side, placing a calming hand on her arm.

“So it was the foci that caused this. “Solas crossed his arms in front of his body, as he suddenly went cold from the thought. His power had been enough to even trap death in a mortal body, yet the magister still lived.

Death nodded. “Yes, but I never knew the elven foci’s could hold that much power.” She paused as if in contemplation. “ The last foci I had seen put up the barrier between the waking and the dreaming. “ Solas froze at their words. They remembered him. Or more or less their actions, who didn't know his actions? It was obvious in the world. The veil, the Breach, the suffering of the elves. All his doing. And to know that death remembered his deeds. It sent unwelcome shivers up his spine.

Solas' jaw tightened as he looked over the 'girl’. “You remember the formation of the veil?” He left the question hanging in the air as the world began to shift around them. Solas was not the one to change it. Death closed their eyes and the fade seemed to warp around them, a large tower is shown dotting up from a fortress in the mountains. A balcony overlooks the hold and setting. The crisp air of the mountains stings slightly against his skin. He knows what she’s creating. Tarasyl'an Te'las, the place where he had held up the sky, the place where he formed the veil.

They stood on that balcony, the balcony where he had once stood alone with his foci in his grip and the world's fate resting in his hands. He looked over to the elvhen girl, who stood fascinated with her formation. The elf that had once taught his enemy and friend the keys to his power. The being that was literally personified death.

It was not often that Solas found himself in awe. Yet as they stood there gazing out over the fabricated fortress he was.

“I remember watching, waiting.” Death sucked in a breath closing their eyes as if in bliss. “I remember the shift in the world as the veil had been erected. As the dreaming and waking were cut from one another's grasp, as life and death were separated. As the Pantheon was locked away from both.” Death took a step forward towards the edge of the balcony and a figure formed beside her. It was hazy at best, but it was eerily familiar.

As Solas watched his form look out over the white mountains. Death placed a hand to where he held his orb fast to his side. An orb that was now in the possession of a blighted magister. Death plucked the foci easily from the younger version of Solas with ease. Tossing the sphere back in fourth in their hands and carefully examining it.

“I had never thought something so small, would have such an impact on the grand scheme of history.”

“They typically are.” He quipped back, watching the mirror image of his orb intently. If held no power here in the fade. It was merely a projection of the being’s memory. Yet it was all so vivid. For someone/something to have gone from the plain white room to the intricate details of a stone fortress from a memory that would have lasted only hours.

Hours that it had taken for him to lay waste to the future of the elves. The future of the People. The future of _his_ people. He thought solemnly on the fact that death had been there with him on that day. He had know severing the waking from the dreaming would kill thousands, but it had to be done. It was the only way to keep the tyranny of the Pantheon at bay. The only way to lock them away.

Death placed the foci back into the grasp of the younger version of Solas and looked back to the same elf, only older. It gave him a strange look then turned its head back to the younger and back to the older. As if doing a double take. Solas knew they were putting the pieces together. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.

A loud banging echoed around them drawing both from their object of focus. Solas could feel himself stirring as the fade quickly dissipated around him. The mage looked once back to the embodied image of death before they were both were thrust back into the waking.

\--

Salladins' POV

I knew him. I knew Pride. He was the one who had created the veil. The one who had locked away the Pantheon, locked away Falon’din. He was the one who had caused the loss of magic, the loss of the essence of life in the waking. The one who had separated the fabric of life from death.  His soul then lighter than the elf’s who I awoke beside.

I rubbed my throbbing head from the sudden rude awakening and overload of knowledge that the spirit of Study had imparted on me. A loud banging came from the wooden door to the cabin.

“Hey, Chuckles, you still there?” Varric’s tell-tale voice questioned, muffled by the door. I sat up and looked around, I was still in Pride’s room. I was sitting on a firm bed with wooden frames. It was in the corner of the room across from a set of dressers and a writing desk. Pride was slouching in a wooden chair at the desk, he started to stir by moving his head upright and looking around for the source of the sound. His gaze finally narrowed on me before snapping to the wooden door. He looked relieved and pained all at the same time.

I went to stand to answer the door and stop the obnoxious knocking, but the elf’s words stopped me. “Just a moment.” He picked himself up off the desk groggy, and somehow managed in a swift motion despite that, to make it to the door.

I rested my legs over the side of the bed and watched as Pride opened the door to a rather cold looking dwarf. His cheeks were reddened and he kept on rubbing his hands together then breathing into them. Varric was looking behind him as Solas blocked his view from inside with his broad shoulders.

“Is snowflake still in there?” The dwarf questioned, as he tried to peek into the room.

“She was just resting. The overexertion of just being up and walking resulted in her exhaustion. I'll go wake her if that is what you wish.” But I was awake, why would Pride lie to Varric about the state of my consciousness? Was I supposed to be asleep? No. He had acknowledgement me when he awoke. I don’t believe he was mad, he was anything but that. Perhaps confused or strained, but not angry.

Standing I walked over to the door to make my presence known. Poking my head around the elf, Varric smiled almost knowingly at Solas. The elf, on the other hand, schooled his features of frustration before stepping to the side allowing a shared doorway.

“I see you got some beauty sleep, Snowflake.” I nodded watching as he fixed his gloves. His crossbow peeked over his shoulder.

Maintaining my share of the doors opening, I responded, “Beauty sleep is not the most accurate way to describe it.”

“Bad dreams?” He shook his head. “It's shit like that, that makes me glad I don't _do_ that Fade thing.”

But dwarves did at one point. At a point in history, I remember them being in the dreaming. They would pass there just out of my grasp before returning to my embrace. You can die if you are in the fade, yes, if you are killed in the fade you die as well. It is just tricky to retrieve the soul. It isn't the same as those who die in the waking. Here, I have access to a soul as easily as a fish has water in a pond. But in the dreaming, it's like trying to swim through slush. It's harder to see, harder to hear, harder to move towards them.

Dwarves, like every race, were like that. Until the waking and dreaming were separated. Or at least, it was around that same time. Years bleed together, the factor of me not having to cross over into the dreaming to retrieve a soul was a simple comfort. The fade was where life flourished and was imagined. Entering a realm of immortality as a form of mortality was difficult and tiresome. If I no longer have to go in search of the fade for the souls of the dwarves, so be it. It made my duty easier to manage.

My duty.

Was I still instructed under my duty? I was still bound to my eternal task. I was still death though in an elven form. Touching my face slowly, Varric and Solas regarded me with curiosity. Pride had a look of remorse playing on his mask.

“Duty--” _my_ voice whispered.

“You okay, Snowflake?” It was Varric who spoke first. I looked to him and nodded slowly.

“Yes, it was just,” I paused looking down at my form. “Just a sense of duty.” It was as simple as that, wasn't it? Duty was everything. Duty was what kept order. Kept balance. My duty was to ensure that balance. To coax it along and take it by the hand to its intended place.

Was that still _my_ duty? I had a body now, a face, skin, emotion, the ability to sense and feel my world. Does that change me? Change my duty? I have to keep my former self a secret, is that my new duty? To hide from the other? Or was it something more? I never thoug-

Fingers snapped in front of my face, looking past the gloved fingers Varric looked unconvinced at my well being. “Snowflake, you keep zoning out.

I straightened at his observation. He was right, wasn’t he? I was 'zoning out’. I was focusing so much on what I was and not what I am. If I was going to adapt to this new _life_ , then I need to stay within the moment. Not drift through ‘ifs’ and the past.

I smiled. “My apologies Varric. I was just remembering something.” The dwarf nodded carefully, unconvinced.

“If you say so. We better head to the Tavern, Flissa’s probably been passing the floor waiting to see her new favourite customer.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I concluded, but before I could take a step out of the cabin a hand on my shoulder stopped me. Both Varric and I looked to Solas, who rested his hand on my shoulder.

He schooled his features into a neutral mask before turning to Varric. “I would like to have a word with Salladin in private before she leaves, if but nothing else than to make sure exhaustion does not overtake her again.” He remained neutral in his demeanour, and the dwarf seemed to pause for a moment before nodding. But I wasn’t exhausted, I didn’t even collapse the first time from exhaustion. He lied again.

I felt a frown cross my face before Solas lead me inside. He closed the door and I stood rigid in the middle of the room. He ran a hand over his face from stealing his gaze on me. I paused, my breath no longer functioning. It was if the very air around me grew colder, the floor seemed to lose heat and the world seemed to slow as he watched me and I watched him in return. I couldn’t help but feel as if I were some animal being examined and I, in turn, examined the observer.I couldn’t help but feel as if I were some animal being examined.

The cold feeling in the room finally snapped at the sound of Prides voice in clear and crisp Elvhen. _“I take it you know who I am.”_ He was Pride, he was Solas. Yes, I knew who he was. But there was something more to that, something more to his question. Was he something else beyond that? Beyond his soul? Was it to do with what I had shown him in the fade. The formation of the veil. That was him too. It was still Pride who put up the barrier between the waking and the dreaming. It was him that had locked away the Pantheon beyond the waking. It was him.

I cocked my head in innocent curiosity. _“Yes, you are the same Pride that had formed the veil.”_ His body seemed to grow rigid and his eyes narrowed. Clasping his hands behind his back, he took a step towards me.

 _“Will you tell anyone this? Tell Tamaris what you saw, what you know of me?”_ His tone had an imaginary edge to it as if I was walking on a knife's edge, the wrong word or move and I would be cut from it. But why would he care if others knew of  what he did? He saved the world from the Pantheon’s bloodshed, though doomed it all the same. Pride had caused death in the separation, but it was less than what the Pantheon would have done. They would have ravaged the world in blood lust. Ma Falon among them. What He, Pride, Solas did was save the world from that, save Thedas from their tyranny.

But why was he concerned over the truth? He had lied multiple times just within the span that I had been awake. Why lie about this? There was no reason. No reason to go about this charade, no reason to continue to hide, no reason for him to fear it.

 _“I see no reason,”_ I stated. _“I see no reason in telling anyone, but why don’t you?”_ The question lingered in the air.

He sucked in a breath and the muscles in his jaw tightened before he turned his back from me. _“Many people are not as accepting of my past deeds as I assume you are. Many would fear or strike me with anger if they knew.”_ He turned to look at me. “ _I would not want harm to come to the Inquisition or to Tamaris if my past should be discovered. It would cause suffering, suffering which I am trying to prevent and reverse.”_ But he was Pride. He saved the world from the Pantheon. Why would they be angry? If they only knew the truth, they would understand that the separation was destined to be. Written in fate to happen. If not by him then by someone else. It was a set point in history, a point which could not be changed for the well being of the world.

But it was still his choice. Still his past, not my own. Who was I to take that away from him? Is not our actions what define us? Define life? Would I be taking his life in a way if I told? Not to mention if it would harm Tamaris in any way.

No.

I will not let them, anyone, suffer. Even I know mercy.

“ _You have my word that I will not breathe a word of your past to anyone.”_ Solas seemed to lose the tension in his shoulders and relax as he nodded in acceptance of my word.  He gestured for the door but halted.

“If you don’t mind the intrusion, what are your preferred pronouns?” The question seemed to catch me off guard.

“Pronouns?” I questioned. Solas nodded.

“Yes, it is a section of phrase that can act as a noun if given the correct context. Though in this case. I was more wondering what pertains to your preferred pronouns gender-wise.” I started at him with a blank expression. I had no idea what he was referring to in that context. Did he mean my name? I had already chosen that had I not?

“Would you prefer to be called by feminine, masculine or non-binary pronouns.” I still gave no suggestion that I knew what he was speaking about. Solas sighed in frustration. “Would you prefer: she and her, he and him or they and them?”

‘Oh.’ I mouthed before drawing my brows together in thought. So he wanted to know what he could refer to me as. I looked down at my new body. The one before me was a female. The body was female was it not? But as death, I had no specific gender, I didn’t know the true meaning behind it aside from what memories and knowledge Study had gifted to me.

But what did that make me now?

I bit my lip before responding. “They and them. I was and am still neither. Though I am at peace if someone calls me by the bodies former pronouns. I have no real opinion on the matter. I have never needed these pronouns before. People just referred to me as a thing, not as a person. I was never a person to them.” The elf nodded and I made our way to the door. Opening the wood the cold air of the mountains came whistling in. I shivered but soldier on into the cold. Varric was outside leaning against a rock with a polishing cloth and his crossbow in his hand.

“Took you two long enough.” He smiled before stripping the weapon to his back carefully. “Any longer and I would’ve thought there was more than just healing going on.” He gave me a wink and Solas seemed to stiffen at the comment.

“Their health is no joking matter dwarf.” He quipped back. “As you said. ‘they are the Herald's sister after all.’. I would not want any harm to come to them over something as simple as me being careless in my healing.”

The dwarf waved him off with a laugh. “Whatever you say Chuckles, just tell whoever put that stick up your ass they’re going to need a strong grip to get it out.” He then looked to me. “Ready to head to the Tavern, Snowflake? I still didn’t get to teach you how to play Wicked grace.”

I smiled, my face lighting up at the thought and before I knew it, we were in the tavern at the same table as before. Flissa was smiling at my return mentioning something about me being too kind to be in the likes of Varric and ‘that apostates’ company. I didn’t really care so long as I was able to show Varric my new knowledge.

Ordering the broth, I tried to stay quiet as Varric explained the basic rules of the game. It regarded cards and money. Something I had neither of, but Varric waved that off and showed me the cards. They were each inked with intricate designs. Some had people on them, others had pictures of coins and daggers on them.

I was fascinated with the complexity of the lines. How could something as small have so much detail inlaid to it? Varric only laughed at my fascination, while Solas watched me with idle curiosity as I studied them. It wasn’t long before Flissa came by with our meals. I had the broth and water, while Solas and Varric both had a bunch of mashed white stuff, green spheres and a slab of meat on their plate. Flissa handed us out utensils and I picked up the spoon making sure that Varric was watching.

“You sure about this kid?” He asked shaking his head a bit. “You can have some of my potatoes if you’d like, no need to put yourself through the trouble.”

I held up the spoon to him and gave him a quick smirk. “Don’t worry Varric, I got this.” And before he could protest I used the ancient knowledge that Study had given me and placed a triumphant spoonful of broth into my mouth.

  
Varric smiling at my success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys........ Sorry for the long wait for chapters. Midterms are really rough and I had not expected philosophy of all things to be the bane of my existence. Have no fear, though, I'm doing NaNoWriMo. And Mortality is my book or novel of choice, so you should be getting regular updates from here on in. 
> 
> Any comments, questions or concerns,message me on Tumblr (the-queen-of-thedas) or leave a comment on the fic. Have a great day! :)
> 
> (Oh and i'm putting up a sneak peak of the next chapter on my Tumblr. It'll be under the tag: SPMC7)


	7. Bluffing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salladin is taught how to play Wicked Grace and there's a little get together at the tavern before Salladin gets some 'news'.

Swallowing the last of my second bowl of broth, I pick up my cards that Varric has dealt me. This is my tenth hand and I still am having trouble just holding the cards. After I kept showing Varric my hand or dropping the intricately designed cards on the floor, Pride volunteered to hold them for me. I agreed, and continued to eat, all I had to do now was point and he’d play that card. Though he’d typically suck in a breath before trying to ‘advise’ me to use another card. I listened to him the first time, but Varric had still beaten me. So now, I just went on my own instinct. Or by which card looked the prettiest. It wasn't the best strategy, but Varric looked like he was having fun.

Flissa had come by a couple of times to ask us how the food was. Each time I gave her my honest answer, she smiled. It was still the best food I’d ever eaten, be it the only food I've ever actually tried. I wasn’t lying to her. I was simply telling her the truth. But by the way that Solas and Varric picked at their food and left a half-empty plate, I assumed they lied to her. And she could tell.

I felt a pang of guilt over that. She obviously worked hard in cooking the meals. Looking around the tavern at the amount of bodies that came in and out of the door, I suspect she probably had to feed all of them. I wasn’t sure how many people were in the Inquisition, but Varric had said that the Tavern was the only kitchen serving the ‘common folk like us’. Apparently, the nobles got better food, which I found harder to believe. Not in their nepotism, but at the prospect of better food. Was there more meat and barley in the broth? Or was it served in a golden bowl? I didn’t know, but the fact of being of higher class and birth meant better food stayed constant through history. I see no reason why it wouldn’t be applied here either.

“Snowflake, you’re drifting off again.” Varric jested, the angel of death card turned over on the table between us. “I’ve got three knights and twin serpents, I think I’ve got this one.” he clicked his tongue and leaned back on his chair laying down his hand on the table. I had Pride lay down my hand and a small smirk spread across my lips.

“Four songs and an angel. Do I win or lose?” I watched as Varric nearly fell off his chair as he laughed. I could hear the deep chuckle from Solas who sat to the right or me. “What?” I questioned, looking back to my cards. “Did I mess up again?”

Wiping away an imaginary tear, Varric regained his composure. “Not at all, you got the best hand in the game actually.” He sat back up at the table and gathered the cards once again. “I haven't seen someone have this much luck with learning Wicked Grace since I taught Blondie how to play.” The dwarf stopped smiling and looked off behind us, his eyes growing distant. “He never did capitalize on that skill.” shaking his head, Varric returned to his extroverted self. “Up for another round?”

I was about to agree when the door to the tavern swung open and the patrons went silent. I looked back to see Tamaris awkwardly standing in the doorway as all eyes were on him. He ducked under the tension and almost frantically looked around for a friendly face, his gaze landing on our table. He all but ran over to meet us, cheeks aflame.  The tavern quickly regained its bustling atmosphere with mugs clinking and patrons shouting.

“Well, that was something to witness.” Solas quipped as Tamaris dragged himself into one of the available seats across from me. The elf's face went red with embarrassment making the lines of Falon'din's vallaslin stand out more.

“I’m just not good, ye know--” He paused to look up at us, “with crowds, can’t stand them. I freeze up and I just-- never mind--” He trailed off.

Solas sighed looking at the elf. “You do understand that being the Herald of Andraste you’re going to have to address large groups frequently? You’re going to have to appear to have some form of confidence when doing it or else--”

The herald cut him off quickly. “Yes, I understand.” He stood up straighter and mocked Pride’s regular scowl. “‘Posturing is necessary’ but I still hate them.” He let out a breath then dropped his head onto the table with a thud. “Ow,” he mumbled earning him an eye roll from Pride and a small pat on the back from Varric.

“Edge, you know what you need?” He waved to one of the barmaids behind the tall table. “A good strong mug of ale. It’ll put hair on your chest.”

“Elves don’t grow hair on our chest Varric.” he mumbled.

The barmaid, an elf, came over carrying two mugs that had foam sloping off the top. The smell alone was enough to make me regret that second bowl of broth, but as she placed it not so delicately on the table. The thick brown liquid made my insides twist. “Well, we’ll see about that after you’ve had some dwarven ale. Tastes like nug droppings, but it does the trick.” He slid the mug over to the moping elf, barely catching it before it fell off the table.

Tamaris took one look at it and I could tell we had the same reaction. He looked to the other two elves in his presence for support, but Solas remain neutral and I was trying to fight off an unsought of nausea from the smell. “It smells like something died in it.”

“No, if something would have died in it, it would smell better than that, I assure you,” I added trying not to cough. Solas stiffened at the comment, but Tamaris broke out laughing. I didn’t understand why he was laughing but it was seemingly a mixture between hysteria and pain. Like he was switching back and forth between sobbing and laughing all in one breath.

Looking for/between the others at the table they seemed as puzzled as I was about Tamaris. He covered his mouth with his hands to try and stifle the laughing sobs before looking up to me.  

“Oh, that was perfect.” He smacked his hand down on the table several times, drawing the attention of other patrons; the ‘liquid’ that sat beside him sloshed in his mug. “Just perfect.” running a hand through his hair he let out a breath, composing himself.

Letting out a sigh, he looked at me, a ghost of a smile on his lips before looking down and away. I felt something tighten in my chest before I reached out to him, soft hands found one marked with the magic that poured from the sky. I wrapped my fingers around calloused hands, tightening my grasp carefully, like how wisdom had to reassure me in the dreaming. Tamaris looked back at me. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking or feeling, but he squeezed my hand back as if it were some sort of reassurance. For him or me, I wasn’t quite sure which.

“I’m sorry,” I stated.

“It’s--” He looked at the others seated with us, judging how to phrase his answer. “It’s just a lot to deal with. I’m sorry that you had to be dragged into this.”  His calloused palm slipped from mine.

“It was unforeseen on both of our parts,” I added, trying to give him a way for him understand that it wasn’t his fault.  Blame was a particular thing, it is like history. If you followed it back enough, the form of it would be so morphed and diluted from what it is now, that it would be unrecognizable and hold little meaning. “What is done is done. Life and death, fate and chance, destiny and truth are written in stone, there is no way to predict it. No way to change it.”

“Everything happens for a reason,” Tamaris said almost breathlessly. “The Keeper had always said that.” I bit the inside of my lip. I knew little to nothing about what life for Salla was like. I knew nothing of their life. No name, no faces, not souls. Nothing.

“Wise words,” Solas chimed in, watching the exchange with curiosity glinting in his eye.

Tamaris let out a breathless laugh, “Yeah, she is.” He then looked over to me. “Taught Sal everything she knows. She was like a mother to us after our parents died.” He paused.  “It was a dark time. I was only 3 when Papae was killed by shems for something as stupid as gathering firewood in the wrong place. Mamae died in childbirth a few months later… Sal was the only thing good to come of that time. The only thing that I have left of them.” I looked down at my lap. I had taken their father away from them, and I had taken their mother away from them. More pain that I caused him. I didn’t mean too.

“Sorry,” I whispered. Both Solas and Tamaris attention snapped to me. I felt pressure growing in my chest and behind my face. It was my fault that his parents had been taken from him. I was the cause of his pain. How much has death taken from this elf? His mother, his father, his sister? I had done my duty, but at what cost?

Tamaris was the first to counsel me. “No, no. It’s okay.” He took up my hand again and have it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay…”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, yes it is.” He glanced over to Varric who was trying his hardest not to draw attention to himself, clearly feeling awkward from the confrontation. “I don’t blame you. I realize this. I’m not angry, I was just-- just scared. I don’t want to lose the only person I have left. But it feels like I’m alone now.” His words washed over me.

A person. I was a person to him. Even all that he knew, all that had happened, I was a person.

Was his need of comfort so strong that he was going to overlook my nature? My essence? Could someone look past what you were and see what you are? I squeezed his hand back. He was accepting me. I didn’t know why, but he was accepting me, death, Salladin. He was looking past what had happened and was seeing a person, not a being, a person. I couldn’t help but smile slightly.

“But I am here for you.”  He nodded curtly but didn't say a word in response, but rather remained in his own little world.

The night carried on quite easily, on a few occasions I ‘found’ myself lacking knowledge of the past I should know about. Tamaris chalked it up to my amnesia from the Breach, Varric seemed to be semi-convinced by the lie. Solas, on the other hand, tried to pry for information, not from me per say, but from Tamaris. It was odd to hear him talk about her, about me. Tales of how we had hunted together and he'd been the one to shoot down the deer before a bear had laid claim to the prize.

Varric laughed at that and Solas had a small smile on his face as Tamaris went into detail of how the bear proceeded to chase us both up a tree where a family of very upset raccoons was trying to sleep and a hive of very angry bees. Unfortunately for us, the appearance of two new inhabitants in their tree was not welcomed warmly.

I laughed as he described in acute detail at the raccoon's desperate attempt at chasing us away. As night fell apparently I had thought up a plan. Salla had lured the bear to the tree using the beehive, then dropped it on its head. The angry bees, mad at the intrusion, started to sting the bear. Mad and in pain, the bear started running around and just by chance hit the tree summoning the raccoons. As the raccoon, bear, and bees were distracted we made our escape back to the clan. It was the middle of the night before we made it back. The Keeper was pacing the aravels, fuming. On our arrival, she demanded our story. Which earned them a scolding from the Keeper for being so reckless, yet also the nickname of da’hara for me.

Upon hearing that, Solas all but choked on his water and gained the attention of everyone at the table. Before we could question him, the tavern door burst opened and the cold air of the mountain blew in with no remorse.  

“Herald.” The female warrior with short black hair and bursting with the light colours of faith stated as she stood in the doorway. The wind pulling at her armor, and the colour emanating from her illuminating a stern glare focus she had on Tamaris. “Your presence is requested.” There was no room for arguing. Tamaris stood, careful not to look at the other patrons who were watching the exchange.

“Very well.” He concluded and made his way stiffly to the door and followed the faithful one out.

“Well shit,” Varric said as the sound of the door closing signaled a resume of the taverns festivities. “By the way the Seeker was seething, I bet he won’t make it out of her hands alive.” Is she going to kill Tamaris? I turned to Varric and my thoughts must’ve rang true through expression alone. He patted me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry Snowflake, it was just a figure of speech. I bet he’ll be back the second he can escape the Seekers grip.” I bit my lip but nodded. I trusted Varric, he didn’t lie as much as Pride, but he still lied. I didn’t know if he should be taken at word value, or if it was some sort of word puzzle, a riddle, that needed solving.

I waited patiently for the next hour waiting for Tamaris to come back. He didn’t.

I watched the door at every arrival hoping it was him. What is Varric had been right, though? What if the Woman, this Seeker as I had learned, had killed him.

Solas left after 3 hours, stating that he had some research attend to in the fade. Varric waved him off at the notion and continued on with the game of wicked grace he’d started with other patrons. They were losing hopelessly to the dwarf. As the clanging of the coins on the table started to dwindle from the soldiers leaving, I felt my body start to lag in its movement. My sight remained vigilant in wait for Tamaris’s return, but my eyelids seemed to protest. Varric noticed and took me back through the snow to the cabin I had abandoned Tamaris in. I protested leaving the tavern I really did. But somehow I knew that it was what was best for this body. _My_ body.

I had to take care of it.

I entered the cabin, a fire had been stoked in the fireplace and I noticed that there was an addition of a bed against the wall. It was small, and lined with the pelt of a gray unidentifiable animal. Given that it was the only thing that was different about the room, I assumed it was the one that Tamaris had said Josephine had brought for me.

I said goodnight to Varric before he departed, closing the door behind him. The room seemed to grow in size as it was closed off from the snow and wind of outside. It wasn’t as busy at this time. The darkness seemed to mean that people were less active and didn’t hurry about. I had noticed as much when walking back with Varric. Save for the tavern, there was no one about. The knowledge I had gained allowed me to see this as normal, but I still didn’t know why.

Why no one was about at night. Was it the visibility? The darkness could be easily fought off with torches. Why waste good hours of practice and work? I would have to ask Varric about this. He seemed to know more about the ways of people and their habits. But for now, I would have to wait for Tamaris. For now, I was alone.

Walking over to the bed, I sat on the pelt. It was soft to the touch. The fur bending under the pressure of my hand. It was so soft. The softest thing I had ever touched. The gray fibers almost coaxing me onto the bed fully. Giving way to the temptation I gracefully edged my way on the bed, it bowed at the weight. It wasn’t long before I closed my eyes and they refused to open again.

I felt like I was falling into darkness.

 

__

 

My eyes fluttered open at the sound of a door being opened. I bolted upright knowing that it must’ve been Tamaris. I was rudely welcomed to light pouring in through the windows and a groggy elf standing in the doorway about to make his exit.

Tamaris looked back at me, dark circles were beginning to frame his eyes. “My apologies, I didn't mean to wake you,” he said quietly.

“It is fine. ” I replied, my mouth dry for no apparent reason. Was this what always to happened after going to sleep? I ran my tongue over my lips as if that would relieve the dryness that seemed to be crusted on. “I was waiting for your return. I was afraid that Cassandra had killed you.”

“Wait what?” He questioned taking a step back into the cabin and closing the door. “Why would Cassandra try and kill me? Do you know something that I don’t? Did I do something?” He started to pace. “I can’t catch a break with her can? First, it’s-” His voice went into a funny accent as a tad higher. “ You caused the explosion, you killed the holy shem,” His voice reverted back to normal. “Then she was all--” His voice returned to the accented one, “I’m sorry for threatening to kill you, do this, meet these people, go to the Hinterlan--” He paused then looked at me. His pacing ceasing to a swaying attention. “ _Fenhedis_.” He swore before walking over to his bed.

He reached under it and pulled out a sack made of some sort of coarse woven fabric. It had a path of stripped cotton on one of its sides. The patterning matching that of the drawstring on its opening. He held the sack out to me as if to take it.

“Here, yer gonna need this.”

“Why?” I questioned.

He sighed and lowered the sack a bit. “Because, I have to take you to the Hinterlands.” I looked at him in puzzlement. Why would I need a sack to go out there? Was I to collect something or gather materials? Isn't that what people did with sacks when they went out into the wilderness? Gathered herbs to fight off disease or risk my touch? But that wouldn't make sense, Tamaris wasn't sick. At least I hoped he wasn't. Scanning him over frantically, I saw no signs of illness. No sweating or coughing. He was fine.

So why the sack?

“I still do not follow.” The elf groaned at my incompetence and shoved the sack in my hand.

“It's for all the supplies you want to take on the trip.” To the Hinterlands. Supplies. I was to pack for a trip. An actual trip. Or would this be classified as a quest? People still went on quests. Maybe I was too.

But what good would I be on a quest? I was apparently good at healing. Tamaris had said as much about the old Salla, so that meant I was as well. But the couldn't be it. There had to be something more something beyond my healing. Maybe I had done something in Haven that warranted my absence. I bet it was when I collapsed in Pride’s cabin. They knew about the flames, they knew that I was death.

The thought sent a chill up my spine. Maybe they know what I am, that I'm not a person. Sheepishly, I looked at the other elf in the room. “Why would they want to take me to the Hinterlands.” Tamaris threw his hands up in the air exasperated.

“Beats me! It was about you bein’ my ‘sister’,” he raised his hands made mock quotes, “and all. They thought it'd be good for the both of us and good for publicity.” So that was it. It was our relation to one another not because I had done something wrong, not because of my healing.

Running my hand over the sack, “So it's not because of what I am, but that I'm your siste-”

“You will never be my sister.” Tamaris started cutting me off. I was taken aback by the comment. He had been so nice to me in the tavern, he'd called me a person. Why was he changing like this? Had I done something wrong?

“You took her from me! You took my sister, the last person I had from me and you think that you can just call yourself by her name. By the name that my mom gave her, the mom that you also took? No.” He was shaking now, his fists at his side white from the way he was clutching them. Taking a step back he continued, “I am tired of this Creators damned charade!” He threw his hands up in the air. Then he pointed accusingly at me,“You'll never be Salla! You'll never be my sister!” The last part almost came out as a sob.

I stared wide-eyed at the elf whose gaze was like razors on my skin. So it was because I wasn't Salla. I bowed my head as if in apology, the sack slipping out of my weakening grasp. “I-I understand.” Was all I choked out as something stung against my eyes. “I'm sorry, I should never have assumed.”

There was silence in the cabin as we both watched the other. The noise from the waking village started to come in muffled shouts from the window and door. But still, we watched and waited for the other to make a move. The silence almost deafening.

Finally, Tamaris ran a hand through his hair. “That's-- that's not what I meant. I--I--” He tried to say, his voice shaking with every syllable.

“You do not need to go back on your opinion.” If he wanted to think me nothing but the thing that had taken so much from him, I was okay with that. I understood that he didn’t want me to take his sister's place, but being seen solely as what I was hurt. He had said I was a person, but I guess that was simply a ruse or cover for his thoughts. “I am not a person to you.” I paused and bit my lip, “I-- I had just thought that I had done something right, correct, in my existence. That for once I had not caused anyone pain.” Tamaris stepped towards me, “that for once I wasn’t at fault, that I was a person.”

Suddenly, he was gripping me by the shoulders his eyes almost like glass as they threatened to spill forth tears. He was desperate in his attempt to keep me steady as if I were to move, that I would vanish into nothing. I stood rigid as he pulled me into an embrace. “That’s not what I meant.” He mumbled. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t move as he pulled away and released my shoulders. “It’s just hard to see her-- to know that you’re not _her_ but you still are in a way.” He paused then looked away and down at the floor. “It’s just confusing.”

“I see.” Tamaris nodded taking my stance under advisement and started walking back towards the door. When his hand reached for the doorknob, he stopped before turning it to escape the cabin.

“She blamed herself too.” He paused as if composing himself, “We were having a fight when I was eight or nine, it was over the stupidest thing, I don’t even remember what it was.” His breath hitched in his throat. “And I yelled at her that she killed mamae. Out of anger or spite, she went to the Keeper and found out that I was right. That I had told the truth.” His hand lets go of the doorknob and his hand fell to his side. “She wouldn’t even look me in the eye. She thought she was a murderer. Thought that I blame her for it. She ran away from the clan because of it, because I had shot off at the mouth and been stupid and hadn’t thought what I said would affect her.” She, Salla, blamed herself for something I did, something that was outside her control, something that she had no say in.

She was like me.

I had no voice or opinion in what became of me. Of me being forced into this body, this form. But it wasn’t the same, but all too familiar. Salla and I, me and her, we were both dealt a hand and were unable to fold. Like in wicked grace, we weren’t playing, no. We were the cards. Not the serpent or the songs, but the angel of death. A card that is played meant the end of the game, or turn. The one who always had a way of either being a blessing or a misfortune.

“When we went searching for her.” Tamaris continued, “we found her outside a human village a week and a half after the outburst. She was sitting under a tree listening to a storyteller. The storyteller belonged to a group of shemlen women, the Chantry ones, had found her and taken her in. They thought she was some escaped slave given how close we were to the Tevinter border at the time. When we showed up to claim her they told us that she belonged to the Maker and that she was meant to be Andrastian, not some ‘wild heathen’.” He sighed looking up at the ceiling. “The Keeper tried to reason with them, and even when Salla saw that I--the clan still loved her and she wanted to return, the Chantry sisters refused to let her leave.”

“But she left?” I stated, half confused.

He nodded solemnly. “It wasn’t the Dalish’s finest hour…” he trailed off.

I nodded in understanding. “You killed them.” He looked back to the door, his expression hidden from view.

“I guess you of anyone else should know what became of them.”

I was silent at the statement. I did not keep track of those that had passed. With all the death in the world; dwarf, human, elf, kossith, animal etc… there was too much to count, too many to keep track of. I did not remember everything that had passed through my grasp or within other shards of myself. No. That’s unrealistic to think I could remember, to recall and pinpoint. Only those who stand out, welcome me or call me to their side in mass amounts do I truly know, truly recognize.

“I should, but I don’t. They were unimportant in the scheme of fate and destiny. They served their life and their life along, not the threads of the world. They were important in their own world, their own mind, but they weren’t paramount in history, in fate.” I walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. That was a comforting gesture right? Yes.

Tamaris looked at me over his shoulder, tears in his eyes. “They were still people.” His voice made something drop inside me like it hurt to breathe all of a sudden. My breath stopped short as he pulled my into another embrace, though this one more desperate than the last. His knuckles white as he gripped at my jacket pulling me in close. “They still deserved to live. Salla deserved to live.”

“I know I am not Salla, your sister. But maybe I, we could still be friends. Acquaintances.” I suggested. Friends was a foreign word to me, but it was something of substance that he would be able to cling to, to help him not feel like the world slapped him in the face every time he looked at me, at the face of his sister.

“I--I think that is doable. You will never replace Salla in my heart, but maybe Salladin will be different.” He choked out a sob into my shoulder. “By the creators I miss her.” He whispered into my jacket. “I miss them all.”

We stayed like that, him clutching me and whispering his sorrows into my ear as if I were able to take them all away. I wish I could. I felt as if it were my duty to protect this elf. This figure who the destiny and fate of Thedas rested upon. This elf who has lost so much from my touch, but still was able to smile. This elf who had the fate of the world thrust onto his shoulders and hand. This elf who would face devastation and emerge with the will to go on. He was more that just that elf. He was something more, something that, something more potent. I didn’t just feel empathy towards him, no. It was more along to belonging, a sense of protection. A kinship.  

He clutched me until he regained his composure and pulled away; wiping his nose on his tunic. “Sorry.” He mumbled, taking a step back. He straightened out my jacket then walked over to the sack that laid forgotten on the floor. “Well, we leave for the Hinterlands at the 9th bell, so that gives you a couple hours to pack.” He threw me the sack and I snatched it out of the air with ease. “I suggest packing only the stuff you really need, bedding will be provided,  so just clothes and stuff.”

I nodded. “What about you?”

“I packed after the meeting with the advisors, it’s already sitting in the Chantry waiting for us to make final provision and head out.” He ran a hand through his hair, the light coming in from the window making it look like a dark coppery colour. “It should take us about 7 or 8 days to get there with the shems dusty mounts, but hey, it beats walking. Plus we’re savin’ money by camping most of the way, so we don’t have to worry about inns buggin’ us because of our ears.” He sighed.

“Mounts?” I questioned.  

“Oh you know, horses. They’re plow horses, but still better than nothin’, though.”

“I’ve never ridden a horse before, let alone camp.” The look on his face as realization followed was concerning.

 He tilted his head back and groaned at the ceiling. “Of course you haven't.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being a day or so late on the chapter. But on the bright side, it's the longest chapter yet so there's a silver lining to the tardiness of the update. 
> 
> But back to the story at hand, how about those sister feels from Tamaris? He shows a bit more of his colours in this chapter and hopefully, so does Salladin. They both are trying to adapt to the idea, and I'm hoping that it's being portrayed that way..... But the Hinterlands... yay!??!!
> 
> Feel free to comment any concerns, questions or just say hi. I'd also be interested in seeing what you guys see Tamaris as, personality. character wise. Just curious. 
> 
> Have a great day :) -TQOT


	8. Trusting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Trust no one."

 

_When Saladin looks in the mirror._

_Fanart was done by the ever lovely raspberriesandstrawberries. She is a massively talented god send, you should all check out her blog ([x](http://raspberriesandstrawberries.tumblr.com/)) Thank you so much, I love it and it looks so true to Salladin._

 

Tamaris sighed heavily after he explained the basics of camping; showing me how to tie knots and pitch a tent with our bedding. It was all very intriguing how each little strand of rope depended on the strength and tension of the others to stay in its position. I found myself picking up the skill quite easily, be it out of my own interests the knowledge imparted on me. Either or, Tamaris thought my progress would be enough to not draw too much attention. But as for the mount, he could easily say that the Dalish had never ridden horses, only Hart's. Apparently, that was true, but we'd have to lie about me never learning how to ride one. I really didn't understand lying when it was part true. A half lie.

When the eighth bell rang, we both knew we ran out of time. I took my sack of clothes and some objects like a brush, the pelt, some flint, a pair of shoes and a couple of hair ties. Tamaris had suggested all the extra things. When we were going through what I should take, I had pointed to objects in the room and Tamaris would just shake his head. Eventually, though I came to a reflected surface held together by a brass frame. A mirror I had been told.

As I picked this mirror up, I stared wide-eyed at the gray eyes looking back. I almost dropped the reflecting glass but somehow I managed to steady myself.  I watched the figure in the mirror as it moved as I moved. I opened my mouth and closed my mouth. The figure did the same. Every twist and turn I made with my face and skin, the figure repeated instantly. The figure, a female elf, with long and curled dark brown hair that had darker streaks running through the strands watched me carefully as I studied her. The dark green lines of Falon'din's vallaslin etched into her face, accenting her cheekbones that framed her long face. She was beautiful. Small freckles dotted on the bottom of her chin and nose making her tanned skin accent the brown of the dots.

She looked like Tamaris. Her vallaslin was the same as him, as was the curls in her hair. I looked away from the enthralling image of the elf and then at the Herald who watched me with peaked interest.  “Who is that?” I pointed to the mirror.

“It’s Sa--You. It’s you,” he said curtly, before picking up my sack and heading for the door.

So the elf, it was me.

I stared at the image breathlessly. I don’t believe I had ever seen myself before. I had always assumed that I was just a formless mist. That the only time that anyone could see me was when I arrived to greet them. But even then I didn’t know what they saw. With the amount of people shouting ‘Maker’ or ‘Creators’ before they expired. I always assumed that they were what I looked like. It made sense to me then. But now, now I had a face. Now I had a reflection. It was surreal to see the figure move as I moved.

To have it look back at me knowing that it was only myself. _Myself._

Tamaris waited from me to cease my fascination with the mirror. Placing it back down on the dresser I followed him out of the cabin. He led me down a dirt path that was lined with banks of snow. We passed a fire where Varric sat. I waved to him and he gave me a smile before returning to scribbling with a feather on a piece of parchment.

“Hello, Varric!” I chimed.

Placing his feather and paper down on a bench beside him and he walked towards the both of us. “Ready to head out soon, Snowflake?”

“We’re just getting Tamaris’ bag from the Chantry now.” I looked towards the large building that Tamaris had claimed was the Chantry. The same building that I had come out of the first time. It was supposed to be dedicated to the human’s god and their lover. Statues depicting her in shining bronze. Her face angled to look like she was in pain. Her face so unlike _my own_. “Did you know that I was pretty?” I asked innocently, Varric stifled a laugh.

“And here I thought that I was the pretty one,” he jested. “You do know that there can only be one ‘pretty’ one in Haven at a time.” I cocked my head at him. So did that mean I wasn’t pretty? A frown came across my features.

“Oh,” I stated simply. Varric saw the change in my tone and held up his hands as if in surrender.

“Though I think it can be arranged that you take that title.” He put on hand over his heart. “I think my vanity can take it.” I smiled at his words not really understanding them, but it made him happy. Tamaris tugged at my jacket for me to continue to follow him up the path.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and whispered in my ear. “You can’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Be so--so extroverted.”

I looked at him confused. “Why not?”

“Because you could give yourself away. We can’t trust them yet.” He concluded. “We can’t trust anyone here. You can’t.” But they were nice. Varric always had a smile on his face and Pride seemed to understand my situation well enough. What was trust that I could not put it in people, was it a force? A way to see? I never needed it before, yet here I was being told not to do it. To use it.

“Why?”

He turned so that we faced each other. “Because they could hurt you.” He squeezed my shoulder tightly then looked away. “Let's just get my stuff and leave,” he mumbled, letting me go and heading back to the Chantry. Once inside, I noticed all the little details I had missed when I had first been escorted out. The way the door swung open, the way fabric was strung up on the walls. It was all so intricate yet simple. Candles were lit and at an elevated piece of flooring with the golden lady statue erected on it. We saw a darker skinned woman in a gold and blue dress talking to a male dressed in Chantry robes. His chin was covered in what I assumed passed for a beard? It looked more like patches of darkness against the white of his skin. It didn’t do anything for his features. He certainly wasn’t the prettiest. Varric already sort of said that it was me.

Tamaris whispered to me once more. “Trust no one.” Before a smile came on his face and he walked towards the two people talking.

Trust no one.

Did that include him?

“Ah, Herald,” the woman in the gold dress said, her voice accented. She had a unique aura in that itself seemed to change colour from a warm yellow to a soft brown. It fluctuated around her whenever she spoke. As if it was trying to replicate the tone of her voice with its song and appearance. She was beautiful, soul and all. From the way, her hair was curled and the little blemishes on her face, to the sound of her past and hopes playing in tune to her. It was captivating. She held herself regally yet there were moments where she seemed not to falter, but to react as a rogue would. It was odd to see the small gestures as she tried to hide the reaction. Especially as the male cleric barked at her. The male was an entirely different story. His aura wasn’t quite the same size. He kept it closer to his body, the purple and orange colouring doing nothing to justify the way he talked to the woman. He was skewered and jealous. Of what I couldn't tell, but he was also devout. An interesting combination.

“Yes, Lady Josephine is there something you need?”

Josephine looked down at her clipboard, “Yes, it's in regards to your sister actually.” Her head tipped towards me. “We have secured communication back to your clan. They are glad to hear that both of you have survived the Conclave though they have asked for Lady Lavellan to return to the clan and uptake her mantle as the first.” She pursed her lips, waiting for Tamaris’ response.

He was drawn between duty and keeping my secret. If he sent me back to his clan, I would have no one to look to. How long would they believe my ‘amnesia’? But if I left, Tamaris would also be alone. He tightened his jaw and looked to me. I shook my head. “She’ll stay here with me.” He paused looking to the warm soul who was scratching this onto parchment on her clipboard. “Please give them my apologies, tell ‘em that I need her here with me as a way to keep myself grounded. The Keeper will understand. Tell her that everything happens for a reason and that the reason why both of us are still alive after- after the explosion, it because we are needed here together,” he finished, his face neutral. “She’ll still ride with us to the Hinterlands.”

“Very well, I will send word that she will, in fact, be staying. Her mount for the journey is already prepped at the stables.” She finished writing with her quill and looked up to see us both. “Is that all?” she asked Tamaris.

“I believe so.” He then nodded to Josephine and the cleric, who of which was scowling at the both of them. Excusing us, Tamaris then went and grabbed his supplies from a large room. It was large enough to be considered spacious yet small enough not to cause an echo as our steps entered the room. In the center of the room was a table, a map, and figurines positioned on it. Gingerly, I reached out before Tamaris’s hand stopped mine. “You shouldn’t touch them,” he suggested carefully, his eyes looking around for his pack.

“Why?”  

“They’re so we know where we’ve been and where we’re going,” he added, finding his pack slumped against a wall. “It’s the war room. That’s just how things are. You only touch the pieces when we need to send people somewhere or investigate something.”

“So it’s like history and time, in a way.” You know where you have been and what has been done by watching the pieces of the world fall into place along their lines of fate. Just as how the Conclave was meant to happen, it's a piece in history and the future has been secured into place. Unmovable from time due to necessity. This table was the same.

The fact that it was called a war room did nothing to dispose of this notion either. War was the cement of time and history. It led to empires to victories, people to fame, and accounts to legend. It was the basis of much of what the people called history. War was the divider of people, but the adhesive to the past.

“Sure.” He said flinging the pack over his shoulder and leading me out of the room. The door to the war room. As we passed, Josephine and the cleric we nodded our thanks and left the Chantry and stepped into the white snow.

The hooded lady, Leliana, approached me from the tent directly across from the Chantry. She didn’t seem to be in most positive mood judging by the way her souls fluctuated around her. She was distraught or confused. I couldn’t quite tell. Something had happened to her lately and I couldn’t pin it down. Something to make her views change, something to change her colour and song enough.  “A word.” She beckoned to her tent. I watched as Tamaris started to head down to the stables. I didn’t want to leave him, but the thought of saying ‘no’ to the hooded lady gave me chills. I wasn’t even sure why? Something about her didn’t _feel_ right.

Did I do something wrong?  Her soul was dark and mangled, from time and abuse of good nature. She had faced many trials in her short life, many leaving her hardened and paranoid. Carefully, I approached. The tinted soul and song lead me into the tent further to a table that sat in the corner. There were sheets of paper thrown about, I could make out symbols and letters but they seemed to drift off the page and rearrange themselves. The formed words, phrases I knew, but they blurred and dissociated from their floating. I blinked back as a sudden onset of nausea overtook me.

The spymaster regarded me cautiously as I braced myself and covered my mouth with my hand. “You are well?” She questioned. It wasn’t genuine concern, but more out of sheer curiosity. It was if she was a circling crow or vulture to me, a dying fawn. It made me feel vulnerable.

“Yes, I am. It's just the words on the page.”

“The words on the page,” she cocked her head. “They ail you?”

“Yes, it’s like they’re floating off the page, and moving around. I can make out words.”

She nodded carefully. “Is this the first time you have come across something, writing, words and symbols, acting like this. I apologize.”

The spymaster nodded once again, though went to the table and picked up the papers with gloved hands. She turned and handed the parchment to me. The words rearranging themselves as I looked at the course paper and flowing penmanship. “Read it please.” It wasn’t a question of if I were going to do it. No. I was the dying fawn and she the crow waiting to pick me clean.

She was so much like Dirthamen. So much like his inquisitiveness and paranoia. How he would hoard the secrets of the world away for fear of someone else using them. Of all the darkness that went on in his life. Of how much he searched for the answer and stood there stoic and unwilling to budge to he got his answer. He was the crow, the vulture to knowledge and secrets. Nothing slipped under his awareness. Nothing.

I swallowed hard.

Taking a deep breath in, I focused on the words. It made my stomach twist and turn, the feeling of unrest in my stomach was uncomforting. “Several sightings of templar and mage engagement within the Hinter-Hinterlands.” The words were blurring together now, it was harder to read, harder to decipher. “The outposts have been secured at the cost of some lives. We lost two scouts in the ordeals. There are secluded hideouts that we’ve tracked templars and mages back to, too many of which are deep within arl Teagan’s land. He has instructed the need for the Inquisition agents to withhold their aid efforts, deeming his militia to be sufficient. Though reports from inside his estate conclude that he is at a quarter of what his full source- no- force. “I looked up to the spymaster, her eyes not leaving my form. I swallowed and continued. “We have yet to locate the locations of the remaining soldiers. But rumors lead us to Redcliffe, though communication to the village has been met with much resistance, we will try a more direct and offensive approach.” I lowered the paper and handed it to the woman. “It’s signed Charter,” I added. Taking a step back, I watched as she tucked the note into her shawl. I saw something flash and before I knew it, a dagger was in her hand.

I stiffened at the weapon's appearance. Watching, waiting as she twirled it in her fingers. She didn’t even look as she spun them in her grasp. Her full attention was on me. “You are quite the mystery Salladin.”

“It is not as if I try.”

“No.” she paused. “If you tried, you would clearly stumble. But there is potential there. Much potential.” Her eyes assessed me then went to the dagger in her hand. “ Daggers are particular weapons,” she mused. “They can be used as decoration, a simple trinket to distract from the overall malice of it. Or they can be used as a tool to cut open a letter, to be used as a lever, used to get close to something. Other times a dagger can be hidden. Weapons held up your sleeve for the convenience of stealth and the kill.” The word resonated in the tent. “Ready at the flick of the wrist to deliver their intended blow to their target.” She spun the dagger so that the hilt pointed towards me. “Take it,” she insisted.

Carefully I reached out, my arm feeling like lead as I gripped the dagger. Tamaris said not to trust anyone. How could I trust her? She was trying to intimidate me, but why the letter then? Why be concerned for my health? My head spun as I gripped the cold brass of the hilt. Wrapping my fingers around the dagger, I admired the shiny surface of the blade. It was decorated with intricate lines and dots crossing and coming to a vertical at the point.

“It is Dalish,” Leliana stated. “The Hero of Ferelden gave it to me. She said it was from her clan, one of the last possessions she had from them.” Her words seemed to grow depth as she continued. “She gave this to me before she faced the Archdemon in Denerim. She said that it was given to her as a way for her to always be a part of her clan. A memory of a time where she had only the stories of her past to guide her. A reminder how far she’d come.”

I stared at the blade in my hands. It felt no different from what I would expect any blade to feel like. The ones I had placed in my pack were identical, save for the curve and decoration. “Why would you give it to me if it has meaning for you? To me it is just a dagger, for you, it is more than that correct?” Leliana hummed then looked to the entrance of the tent and up to the Chantry.

“‘Everything happens for a reason.’ No?” Her voice grew quiet. “You still have yet to tell me how you were in the room with the Divine before the explosion.” I felt something tighten in my chest, my breath hitching in my throat. ‘Trust no one.’ Tamaris’s words come back to me.  “You were adamant about that fact were you not? I am curious as to why.”

“I must have been confused. I had just woken up, awakened. I did not know what I knew nor what my words meant in relation to others.” I lowered my gaze at the lie. The Lie. My lie. The lie of what I was, what I am. The lie that has caused too much unrest with those who knew. Tamaris, Pride, they both felt fear and sadness when I had admitted it to them. Even as much as the hooded woman scared _me_ , I was not going to place that burden on an already heavy soul.

She smiled and leaned over her desk. “Debatable.” She nodded. “I apologize for keeping you from the Herald. I am to understand that you're accompanying master Tethras, Seeker Cassandra and see Solas to the Hinterlands.”

“To my knowledge,” I add.

She looked up to me from her hunched over position. “Then that dagger will come to use I suppose.” She turned back. “You may return to your duties.”

I breathed a sigh of relief as I made my way out of the tent and headed towards the stables. My heart thumping in my chest.

 

\-- 

 

Leliana POV

 

She leaned over her desk sorting through the paper, the coded message that the Herald's sister had just read. It baffled the spymaster how this elf who quite literally dropped out of the sky from nowhere was able to read her reports without a cipher or even the faintest hint of understanding of what she was doing.

She knew that the girl was a mage. Given the initial fear of possession by the Commander when she dropped out of the sky unceremoniously. But the Apostate reassured her that yes, she was a mage, but she was stable enough not to pose a problem. Well, at least not regarding possession. But this. This was something else. The elf was not consistent with her story and her acts.

The elf upon first meeting her had said she remembered the Breach and that she was in the chambers. But it was clear from the vision they had all seen at the temple on the day the Herald stabilized the Breach, that she had entered with him. So how could she have been in the room with the ‘darkspawn’ creature she had said was there? It didn’t line up on how she was telling her story. She didn’t know her name nor her past, but she knew basics.

Leliana had first thought her a spy, a spy for whom, she wasn’t sure. If the elf was, in fact, a spy, the ruse for the Herald to go along with it has been underweight for longer than she’d originally thought. But from all, she could scour through the background she had acquired from Tamaris and by her own means, about the Lavellan clan. Nothing had sent up red flags. There was no contact with potential employers. That or she was skilled enough to hide that connection. But then why bother to go to the Conclave if she knew what was going to happen. If she knew that it was going to end in chaos, why bring her brother into the mess? It could have been a cover or a way to ensure that someone under her influence could have the mark. But then why not take it for herself?  My heart beat loudly in my ears as I rounded the canvas and headed for the ledge of the platform. I heard shuffling in the tent before two muffled voices spoke. I ducked behind the tent to hear better. The material acting as a barrier of their sight and my hearing.

No. This was too complex from what she’d seen demonstrated from the girl. When she had first woken up and Varric had directed her, like they had planned. She had shown no knowledge of the basic functions of life. Eating broth was considered beyond her level. But once I had called him back to point out the obvious charade or problem, he had delivered her to the apostate. It was curious that when she had been retrieved from that residence that she somehow had grasped the basic knowledge again. So once again it was reliant on the contact she’d have. Varric for all his stories and lies, was trustworthy when it came to keeping an eye on someone. She had seen his work in Kirkwall and experienced his vast network first hand when the Chantry had exploded. He was an expert spymaster, but he cared too much for his men. He cared about their well being not their duty.

So when he had reported that that Salladin had gained back some of her memories or at least skills. It was alarming development wise. It pointed towards the apostate for being the contact. And the more Leliana looked into him, the more suspicious she became. He said he hailed from a village from the north. North of where she had yet to find out.

He knew far too much and his timing too much of a coincidence for it to be anything but. Leliana knew she would have grown complacent and eventually left the man to his past if this elf had not brought him back to her foresight. She kicked herself for even knowing the potential of falling into that lull of security. It was dangerous and often ended with her hands being the bloodiest, with either her own blood or the blood of her friends or her unfortunate enemies. It was the life of the bard. A life that had been hard on Leliana. From her travels and betrayal with Marjolaine to her travels and companionship with the warden. She knew the world was not kind, and she could not be as simple and naive to think that it would be anything less to her.

That is why she suspected the worst from everyone. Someone's intentions were never clear until they put to the test. A test like what she had given the elf.

The lie she had spun about the blades story had been fabricated to make her feel some sort of empathy or pride from the blade. She had shown concern for taking it, but it didn’t verge on the either scale. More of confusion then outright empathy. The blade itself though was a trick. It was well crafted and battle ready, but as for it being a Dalish design and patterning, it was false. If Salladin had noticed this and for Leliana’s sake kept quiet, she was sure she would speak out about the dagger sooner or later. It wasn’t like the Dalish to keep the appropriation of their culture secret or contained. Leliana had expected her to outright state that it was fake, that the design was not in fact elven let alone Dalish. But no. There was nothing along those lines, except for the split seconds that she admired the design.

She was perplexing.

One would assume with the return of her skills, she would see the difference. Or at least if Solas, the self-proclaimed elvhen expert, was her contact/ employer. Would she not have feelings about it? Would she take the blade to him?

The spymaster placed a hand to her chin as the canvas flaps of the tent opened to reveal a short rigid form of a human. The scout came in dressed in a scout's uniform, their head covered with a shining inquisition helmet.

“Report.”

“They’re already at the stables, mistress. The Herald and his sister are riding together, the others all have their own mounts. We’re also sending a wagon with supplies to the crossroads, as Scout Harding had requested. They have an escort of just three soldiers. As for provisio--”

“No,” Leliana corrected.

“Pardon me, mistress?” The scout trembled.

The former sister crossed her arms over her body and stood at an off stance from the now frightened scout. “There will be a scout going.”

“As you wish, mistress. I’ll have one of the scouts on duty be assignme--|

“No.” She stated again, watching the scout all but cower in his boots. She didn’t take joy in how they responded, but it was part of the job and the way she had to carry herself.  “I want one of the scouts who’s been trained as a soldier and that will be their disguise. I can’t take the risk of a scout being discovered, but as a soldier, they might be more inclined to talk to them.”

“As you wish mistress.”

“I would like Scout Tiercel to take up the duty, he should be in the training yard.” With that, the scout bowed and all but ran out of the tent for the gates. Tiercel would be adequate. He was impressionable and cunning. His skills with observation were unmatched with the scouts she currently had stationed in Haven. If she had her way, she would be sending Harding with them. But she was already there and strictly assuming the role as one of her scouts. But Tiercel was another matter. He would be able to gain access to the escort with ease and be able to relay information accurately.

Once again the canvas flaps of the tent opened. Though this time it revealed a tall form of a darker skinned elf. He stood an inch or so taller than herself. Surprisingly tall considering he was an elf. He had stark green eyes that watched his surroundings with a calculated measuring gaze. He wore a soldier's training uniform and had two longswords strapped to his back as well as a shield for appearances.

“You summoned me, Spymaster.” He nodded at her, sweat dripping down his cheek from training.

“Yes, you are aware of the Herald and companions leaving for the Hinterlands, yes? They are to take a wagon and escort with them.”

“Would you like me to tail them, my lady?”

“Yes, but focus on the Herald's sister and the Apostate, but mainly the girl. I expect full stealth to be utilized and a report every other day. She has yet to prove herself as an ally regardless of her relation. I will not have nepotism surpass judgment.” Leliana nodded rearranging papers on her desk. “You will be leaving within the hour. I will delay the group's departure till the next bell.”

“Yes Mistress, is there anything else?”

She shook her head. “No, just maintain anonymity.”

“Yes, mistress. Maker’s blessing be with you.” He bowed and went to abandon the tent, his armor clanking behind him as he walked.

“And to you.” She responded in kind, the silence of the tent now apparent.

\--

 

Salladin POV

 

It was strange walking through Haven alone. It wasn’t like when I had first awoken, now I saw and noticed all the ways people looked at me as I walked by. No longer was I the figure just playing in the snow. Watching and waiting as it melted from the heat of _my_ body.

Once I reached the open gates I saw the stables immediately. There were four large animals, horses, I assumed, strapped with a strange seat of cushion and rope. They were beautiful and huge. All four were a dark brown colouring with white stripes on their noses and feet. The animals souls were vastly different, counter to their physical aspects. The one closest to me, with two white stripes, socks, on their back legs was the oldest. She had worked a hard life, and it clearly showed on the way her song was periodic and a constant rise and fall. Like the labored breaths after pulling bricks. She was strong, though, her resilience in situations was better than the other 3. Approaching the overworked horse, I extended my hand hesitantly.

“Garbie, won’t bite ya’,” a voice came to the side of me. There stood a dwarf with a long black beard braided down to his stomach. He had on a leather apron and gloves. “She’s the nicest, gentlest mare we’ve got. It’s been a hard year for her, but she seemed to make it through okay.” He reached into his apron and pulled out an orange cone-shaped vegetable. “‘Ere, giver ‘er this carrot.” He extended me the food and showed me how to hold it.

Holding the carrot in front of the mare's face, she sniffed me, then the food. With large lips, she gaped and consumed the vegetable in a few bites. She huffed her approval and rubbed her head against me, making me lose my balance and fall into the snow.

Laughter came from behind me. Turning to see Varric and the other dwarf all but keeling over with laughter. “Looks like you made a new friend lassie.” The bearded dwarf said coming towards me and offering me his hand. Taking the gloved hand he lifted me to my feet with ease. Snow fluttering down from the perch of my shoulders.

“Looks like your nickname is accurate eh Snowflake?” Varric teased patting the snow off of me. “Tamaris is in the forge getting your armor. You should probably see him soon, he was kind of anxious when you disappeared from him.”

I nodded dusting the power off of myself. “I’ll see him right away.”

Walking into the forge, I was met with an intense heat and the smell of sweat. I watched as men in cut off sleeve tunics hammered away at red steel. Sweat dripping down their face as the hammer and metal clanged at every contact. Tamaris was standing over by the side of the forge over a wooden table with fabric on it.

“Varric said you wished to see me,” I stated, causing him to turn around.

“Yeah,” the word hung in the air, the sound of metal on metal clanging in the background. “ Um- here’s yer armor. Well, it’s mainly robes, but I was able to add some leather bracers and new boots.” He picked up the assortment of fabric and leather off of the wooden table and held it out to me. The robes were a dark green and had white leather attached. On top of the pile was a pair of white gloves made of the same white leather.

“Why do I need this?” I questioned.

Tamaris ran a hand through his hair. “Because you’ve been wearing the same clothes since we were able to heal you. And honestly, you’re starting to stink.” My brows knitted together. “Kidding-- well sort of--” he fumbled to find the words. “But ya still need something to protect you, wouldn’t be safe otherwise.”

I looked down and ran my hand over the fabric and leather. It was soft to the touch.  “Thank you. What do I do with these, though?”

Tamaris directed me to a cabin beside the forge where he instructed me to change into the armor. I was about to protest but he shut the door closed behind him. Laying out the armor on the floor I saw how intricate the belts and buckles were. I felt my heart speed up at the thought of me trying to put this on. Examining my own clothes, I matched up what item went where. The fabric robes with the two small holes and one bigger one at the top went over my head. The memories from Study only went so far. They could tell me how to read common, but not button up a shirt. After 10 minutes of me struggling to get the new tubes of leather on my legs a knock came on the door.

“You doing okay in there, Snowflake?” Varric’s voice came muffled from the door.

“I am having difficulties,” I admitted trying to line up the belts properly. It was useless. Who in their right mind would even need this to keep them safe? At this point, it would be easier for them to take their chances on the field then to struggle anymore in this endeavour. “Is there a way I could have some aid?” My voice sounded agitated as I fiddled with a buckle. “I wish nothing but misery on the soul that made these things!” I shouted at the clasps, throwing my hands up in surrender.

“Hold on, I’ll get Tamaris.”

“No!” I shouted. Tamaris already had done so much. I was not so weak that I would need his assistance for clothing myself. He had already helped me with my provisions. I would not ask him to help me with this matter. “Please don’t tell him.”

There was a pause outside of the door. “Sure thing Snowflake, give me a second.” She heard him walk away, the sound of snow crunching under his boots fading. He returned moments later though accompanied by another set of boots, heavier. “Snowflake I’m sending the Seeker in, is that alright?”

“Yes,” I squeaked out. The door opened slightly, the cold wind from the mountains blowing in with the new body that stood in the room. The Seeker. Her armor and soul shining as she stepped in and closed the door. She regarded me and my state of undress or attempt at redressing and sighed. Taking a tentative step forward she began to undo the buckles that I had clearly placed in the wrong spots.

I flinched as she turned to face me head on. “How is it that a mage’s robes have more Maker forsaken straps then plate armor?” She sighed and made a disgusted noise as she readjusted the sash on my waist. She looked down to me, eyes curious. “I am surprised you were unable to outfit yourself.” She stated nonchalantly.

“It was not my intention, Faith,” I interjected as she tightened the fabric.

The Seeker raised a brow. “Faith?”

I bit my lip and nodded. “Your faith, it is almost blinding, how bright it is.” She nodded along and moved around me and signaled for me to put my arm through a hole.

“You say that as if it is bad to have it.”

“No.” I paused. “Having faith does not mean that it is bad. It just can be misplaced.”

Faith scowled. “I have done no such thing. I trust in the Maker.”

“Trust is not the same as faith.” I winced as she had to pull back my arm in order to get to a strap. “With trust, you place it consciously, but faith is more. You do it without intention, without knowing. You can only choose where to place it, whether it’s someone or something.As always brevity is the soul of wit, the briefer the better. Trust can be faith, but faith can’t be trust.” I paused, as did the dark-haired woman.

“I see.” Her words were soft. She spun me around to face her and gave me a once over look. “You are done.” She stated and went for the door. The wood planks slamming against the wooden frame as if it was slammed shut.  

Had I said something wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY. I AM SO SORRY. I realized I haven't update in awhile. There is no excuse for this sort of behavior, but with this being university application month and all, also with the holidays coming up, it's been busy and I haven't had the time to just sit down and write anything. Sure I've fantasized the next chapter, sure I've got it a quarter of the way done already, but it's still a long way off. 
> 
> I also made it longer as atonement for the tardiness. 
> 
> This chapter by far isn't my favorite. I think the last one would have to take that slot. Oh and HUGE shout out to AngelicArtwork/elevanetheirin.tumblr, ribbonsandfeathers, and MaryTheMango for commenting on the last chapter. They gave me the inspiration to finish this one up. 
> 
> Thank you all so much, have a great day. And chapters should hopefully start being regular after the holidays. I'm hoping to update Tyro soon. I need to come up with some kind of happy side to the Breach for Sora....


	9. Riding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They pick a mount, Sal gets a stick, and someone ends up sweating under their collar because a certain elf is a little more observant than previously thought.

_Fan art done by the lovely raspberriesandstrawberries. I love the way Solas is looking at Salladin. Just <3 perfection. _

 

I walked out of the cabin, the light from the day reflecting on the snow blinded me for a split moment before my eyes focused on the horses. The Seeker, Pride, and Varric were already mounted. A wagon with three soldiers behind them were tying down a tarp. I looked around to see Tamaris, and spotted him talking to a human with a beard. They both nodded and the human turned around and handed Tamaris a long stick.

Taking surefooted steps towards the mounts, Tamaris nodded to me, the long stick held firmly in his hands. It had something attached to the top, a sphere of some kind. It was decorated with rigid lines that crack and glowed blue.

“Catch.” He threw the stick to me, I almost dropped it, the shaft barely balancing in my grasp. The wood was worn and warm to my touch.

“What is it?”

“It’s a staff. I had it commissioned for you,” He paused looking to the others making sure they were listening or not listening. They all looked like they were busy mounting their, well mounts, the soldiers occupied with the wagon; so it was hard to see which it was. The listening or not listening. “It’s like the one the Keeper gave you before you left. It has the same enchantments… or at least I think they do. I couldn’t get all of the exact materials. Iron had to suffice instead of the onyx, but it’ll work for now.”

So it was for those listening.

Nodding to him, I held the staff tighter in my grasp. He was doing this for show. But it was a show to protect me, a small lie, something to keep us both safe.

“I understand the context,” I said simply. I didn’t know what the staff was used for, but I assumed asking questions like that would only clue in the listeners that I didn’t know what he meant. It was all a lie right?

Taking the staff in hand, I followed Tamaris towards the mounts. The mare I had fed, huffed and moved towards me as we approached. Garbie, I think that's what her name was. I reached out a hand before me, the mare met it mid-step just as Faith held her back via a rope attached to the leather straps around her face.

“Hello, Garbie.” My hand was met with her fur, was it even fur? I didn’t know. I’ll have to ask Pride or Varric about that, they’d probably know. Tamaris said he mostly had harts back with his clan, maybe they had a different coat. Or maybe they were the same. I stroked the mare’s long neck that extended well above me. She seemed content at the contact and attention. Her song slightly softer as I continued to caress her.

“I guess that makes up our minds on which mount we’re gunna take,” Tamaris added with a small chuckle.

  


-

 

Getting onto the horse was the easy part. Staying on the mare was the most challenging bit. As much as I clung to Tamaris, somehow I kept on sliding off to the left or right as we made our way out of Haven. On more than one occasion Tamaris had to physically let go of the reins and pull me back up. His instructions of “hug the horse with your knees” was about as useful as using a fork for soup.

The constant rubbing of the leather against my new armor did nothing but add to my discomfort. Tamaris seemed to understand my discomfort and at least distract me from my pain. “You know, you can heal yourself when we stop for the day. It’ll give you some practice.”

Heal? Practice? I knew nothing about magic, let alone actually casting it. The one time I had even tried, I had managed to almost light Pride’s cabin on fire. I shuddered at the thought of trying again. What if I did the same to myself? What if I lit myself on fire, or worse Tamaris or one of the souls following us? No. I wasn’t going to risk it. “I won’t.”

Giving me a confused look over his shoulder, he questioned me. “Why not? You’ll need the practice to heal us in battle.” Battle? I was going into battle? In battle meant death more or less of the time. I would have to face myself. I didn’t want to watch them die, to watch my own shards carry them away. Their souls were too bright. To good for them to be cut from the vine of life so soon.

“I will not go into battle. No one will. I will not lose anyone here to death. I will not stand for it.” My voice was firm. Tamaris’s posture changed when I stated it, though. He stiffened.

“Our hand will be forced, lethallen.” Pride came striding up beside Garbie. “I doubt that the templars or mages would be willing to listen to diplomacy.”

“I don’t care for diplomacy, it means nothing to me.” I regarded him. When has death ever needed to barter? To discuss when to take you? Time is time. There is no preventing, stopping or fast forwarding it. It was one of the only constants in the world that even death was bound to. “I just can’t watch you risk your souls, your lives for a fight that means nothing to history.”

“How can you say that? Every life has meaning, I thought you of all people would understand.” Of course, every life had meaning. From the trees, to the little organisms swimming in the oceans to dwarves, humans, kossith and elves. Every life means something. But some have more meaning than others.

“I understand. Everything has meaning. But not all meanings are important to the lines of fate. Take the souls lost to the Conclave. Only one of those souls managed to be important enough to spark change. Only their song will be sung by others because they were important to history.” Both elves regarded me carefully, neither one speaking. Only listening. “Why risk yourself in a meaningless fight, when both your souls are meant for a greater purpose?”

They were silent to the question. But it was the truth. Pride and Tamaris were meaningful to fate and destiny. Upon their choices so much death and life would be abated. If they died now, then all of that, the future, would be uncharted. Death was not supposed to take them. I would see to that fact. My hands would touch neither of their souls until their allotted time came. Not for some fools fight that was a choice.

“We have to. It’s the only way to resolve the war. to bring peace,” Tamaris spoke quietly.

“With more death?” I questioned. “Haven't I done enough?” I felt an elbow nudge my stomach. Right. Lies.

“You can heal, Salladin. That is all we ask.” Solas aided. Right. He knew that Tamaris knew, but Tamaris didn't know the other way.

I had to keep up the appearance of Salla, even when Pride knew that I was what I was. I hated lies. Too confusing. Meaningless in the end. They always lead to me no matter which path or story you tried to spin.

But lies aside, I could heal. Or at least Salla could. So should _I_ not be within the same capabilities? But it seemed wrong. Death healing? Would that even be right? Could I even summon the magic to do so without harming the recipient?

Since when has death ever healed a wound? You healed so that you would avoid my touch. But it wasn't _my touch_ any longer. I was a person now. Perhaps that would mean something. Perhaps I could change what I have always known.

I looked to Solas who watched me with a careful eye. His hands on his horse's reins, elbows bent and back straight. He was everything his name described. Pride.

Taking a breath, I looked to my hands. “I don't know how to heal. I can't remember ever benefiting anyone with my touch.” I pause looking to Tamaris’ back. “It's all a fog in my mind.”

Understanding my positioning of the statement, Solas inclined his head. Well, I hope that's why he tilted it, that or I was rambling.

What even was rambling?

Tamaris nudged me again drawing me from my thoughts. “She would be an attentive student I am sure. Right Sal?”

“What?”

Pride chuckled beside me. “We will start lessons tonight. I would be honoured to instruct her.”

I looked between the elves brows knitted together. “I missed something didn't I?”

“Solas has volunteered to train you in healing.” Tamaris provided.

He was going to train me to heal? After I had almost set his cabin on fire? This made no sense. Unless it dealt with what I was. He wanted to see how death could protect life. A simple observation, a curiosity.

I was a curiosity to him. His nature proved it in its very song.

But he could teach me to heal. To make it so that they could still bring peace. Fight whatever fight they seemed necessary, despite if it actually was. If someone fell injured or came close to my own clutches, then I would heal them. Simple as that.

I smiled at the thought. Maybe I could surpass my previous reputation. Salladin the healer. I liked the sound of that.

 

-

  


By the time we stopped for the day, I managed to all but fall off of Garbie. My knees, thighs, stomach, shoulders, neck, back and feet all ached from the constant gate of the horse. As I impacted the now grass, not snow, beneath me; the ground was a welcomed surface when in comparison to the horse.

“Snowflake, not sure that’s the way you’re supposed to get off.” Varric joked as he rode his smaller version of Garbie next to my now prone form on the ground. Looking up at him, I groaned in pain.

“I am aware of that Varric, but I am certain that this body would break if I moved.” I huffed resting my head back down on the ground. Why did I have a body? This would have been so much easier if I was formless. No need for horses or travel. I would be there within seconds of willing myself to the side of a soul. But instead, I was rewarded with a body and aching legs.

Maybe there were perks to being a mist/ personless form.

Varric dismounted, the proper way might I add, and made his way towards me. “Not a fan of riding?”

Rolling painfully onto my back, I looked up at the dwarf who stood above me. “I welcome death to take me.” Varric shook his head extending an arm to me.

“Here I thought it was only Chuckles that had that kind of sunshine outlook on life.” Taking his hand he pulled me up. My back and knees cracking as I painfully stood. Legs wobbling, thankfully I was able to use Varric as some sort of crutch. His height making him the perfect leaning post.

Steadying myself, I looked at everyone. Tamaris and Faith were debating where to set up tents. Soldiers from the wagon were getting some supplies out for what I assumed was dinner. Only a few paid any attention to the dwarven crutch and shaking elf. “You should probably see the elf for some healing. By the look of you, I’d bet he’d be doing everyone a service.” The healing lessons. I groaned in pain at the thought that I still had to do this.

My body felt like lead under me. Even with my dwarven crutch, everything still hurt.

“Are you alright miss?” A voice came from behind us. Pivoting on Varric, a soldier in full armor stood. He looked concerned for me or at least he questioned my mode of getting around. Striking green eyes looked out through the eye slits of his helmet. I couldn’t see his face, but his soul was quite profound. Green lined around him but it was different, slivers of yellow and purple dotted it. His soul was fading in and out, as if he was trying to keep it to himself. To contain his own soul.

It was odd. He was a soldier was he not? What would a soldier need with containing himself. The one in battles long past were known to release themselves as a way to ‘unleash’ their power, their skill. It never truly helped, but it was just how they functioned. As soon as you take up the mantle of warrior it changes, something about the way they fight, feel, defend, how they are. From a servant to a soldier, it was how things, souls, how they were. You could always tell if someone, if something had that spirit. One that would not back down, one that would take up a sword over daggers knowing that subtlety was not always the way to make fate. Typically soldiers were always outward with their songs and soul. Like the beat of a drum, steady and sure. No. His was off, like there was a melody behind the slight thumping of the bass. Quick and fluid, easy to change, easy to hide. Souls fluctuated, yes. Just not at this rate.

Even the soul of Faith did this, her soul and song fluctuating with her state and emotions. Now she was on guard, probably due to the travel. But she was more flamboyant when meeting me for the first time, asking me questions about her religious leader. Then softer, quieter as she helped me do up my armor.

Not this soldier, though, he was different from her. Not a warrior. Not one in true name or spirit. He was something more or less. Just not the same. It was hard to describe. Like looking at a picture knowing that something is wrong, just that you can't pinpoint that inaccuracy. How it picks and prods at the back of your mind as you know it’s there, but you just can’t see it.

“You’re wrong. Not bright enough, no, not brightness. Adapting and conforming? Not that simple.  Something more…. It’s wrong, something is off.” The green eyes were taken aback by my question. Did he not feel it within himself? Did he not understand that he was abnormal for a warrior? “Who are you?”

Varric shifted underneath me so that he too was facing the soul. His stance was off set. He was expecting something to happen. To defend himself, not admit something. Had I done something wrong again?

“My apologies my lady, I don’t understand.”

“Why are you like this?”

“You’ll have to be more specific my lady,” he bowed his head. “I am just what I am. Nothin’ more.” I drew my brows together. But he was more. Something past this. He wasn’t like Pride, there was no edge around the barely visible green for the waking to pull from him. So he had no magic to control. But it still flared out and in. Drawing me closer and closer. His song almost hypnotic to me.

“Snowflake, you’re staring.” Varric interpreted looking up at me drawing my attention. The lines of his face etched into a look of confusion. I looked back to the soldier who was watching me closely.

Bringing a sore arm to shake my mind away from his soul, I nodded to Varric and the soldier. “You have my apologies, I did not mean to offend. You are simply an oddity.”

The anomaly nodded in response. “You did not offend miss--” He paused, his entire body language changed. Instead of being offset from me he took a step forward and squared his shoulders to mine his head inclined down and to the side. “Though I would be happy to be of more service to you.” He straightened his head bowing. “And the Inquisition of course.”

Wouldn’t that already be a given if he was a soldier of the Inquisition? “I would assume that.” Maybe he could tell me what was so off about his soul. About how was manipulating his own song to mimic a soldier, but also not. “I look forward to utilizing your offer,” was my response accompanied by a small smile and nod. This way he would tell me.

Varric took my hand as the soldier parted, “Let's get you to Chuckles before you do-- whatever it was you just did.” He muttered something about elves and frolicking. I missed most of the context, but apparently I did something wrong. Again.

Letting out a sigh, carefully, we managed at a hobbling pace to find Solas. He was brushing down his horse across the now established camp. I guess the sight of us making our way over was enough to draw him from his task. Immediately, he was on the other side of me helping me stand. I protested at the new shift in my weight and the way that it put pressure on both knees equally.

Varric explained my situation to Pride, who simply nodded along. The dwarf failed to mention to interaction with the soldier, but I was sure that would only worry the elf more. Lines of stress formed between his brows as he and Varric managed to lower me to the ground. His hands fluttered above me.

“Watch carefully.” He instructed as his hands began to glow a faint blue. He started at my feet and immediately the pain and all out puffy look they had started to recede.

“It’s gone. The pain, it’s not there anymore.” Pride smiled.

“That would be the effects of the healing.”   

“Oh.” I acknowledged simply, continuing to watch as his hands continued their ascent to my knees.

“For healing magic you need to focus on the aura and life force of the person. “ He looked up. “Something that I suspect will be easy for you to adapt to.” Focus on their life force, like their soul? Must be. The sounded easy enough, Pride was able to do it easily, so why not me. “Next you have to be able to use your mana to weave the flesh back together. That applies mostly to open wounds. Though for minor bruises and internal bleeding, it would be a considerably different approach. Now the technique I am using on you it made for soothing muscles and preventing sores from forming. For this you would need to approach the injured patient with a steady amount of mana, allowing it to flow through the muscles causing them to release tension and become more pliable.”

I stared blank faced at him. Approach? Couldn’t I just focus on their aura and think them healed? Was it not that simple? For every injury there is an alternative approach. How could I ever learn this? I had done one thing one way for as long as I could even remember. There was only a few ways you could go about tending to a soul. The person either expired, was killed, or I was forced to take it away. What Pride was asking me to learn was simple in his mind, but out of my depth. They needed a healer yes. But could I be the one they needed if I couldn’t even understand a simple approach? The one time this body, my body, had used magic, it was detrimental and uncontrolled. I had no way of knowing how to control it.

“Pride. I know nothing of how to control the magic. Let alone any healing.”

I felt his hands and magic waver as he looked back up to me. “I see. We will speak more of this in the fade.” He nodded to Varric who seemed to just shake his head and hold up his hands in surrender.

“Don’t look at me. I’ll leave you elves to your fade and magic shit. I’m quite content in my dreamless nights.”

“But you’re missing the most crucial of--” He was cut off by the sound of an ear piercing howl. Suddenly a single howl turned into a chorus that echoed in the forest air. The sound of bleating and animalistic screaming followed after. It was horrifying. The way the noise made my ears twitch. It seemed to gnaw inside me like I wanted to do something. Run? No. Help? No. Something else. Something more primal. Something that reassured me that they were at least satisfied for the night. That I wouldn’t be the next one screaming into the black night.

That I wouldn’t face myself.

The dwarf and elf regarded one another. “I’ll set wards for the wolves.”

“Sounds good Chuckles. I just feel bad for whatever that was.”

“Regardless, it means they are fed and are unlikely to investigate the camp. Though I would advise protection around the mounts.” Solas added, standing.

“I’ll talk to Edge about it. He and the Seeker are the ones setting up the guard duty schedules.” Varric turned and began to walk away. Leaving me and Pride alone at the edge of the camp. Too close to the sound of the animals for my comfort. The animal that had wailed was dead. That was a fact I knew. It was a way of life for there to be predators and prey. It was just easier to dissociate when you were part of either groups necessity to live. But now. Now I was mortal. Now I could die, couldn’t I? I was a person finally. But didn’t people die? Will I die?

I scooted myself closer to Pride as we both looked into the forest. The silhouettes of the trees lighter when compared with its further backdrop. The sounds of birds and animals going about the branches, darting from one to another searching for their resting place or something to sustain them. It was peaceful. Everything was peaceful. Just not the feeling of dread welling inside me.

  
I didn’t want to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late late late late late update. Life has been busy and this chapter just didn't seem to want to write itself. I started from three different points and ended with six... I had to pick the more linear of the options.... Hopefully this works in our favour.

**Author's Note:**

> So... guess who decided to create another fic instead of updating the others....? Haha haha.... I hope this appeases you enough to make up for it. 
> 
> I had reread 'The Book Thief' recently and had the idea of writing a personified death. So I put it in Thedas. Of course.


End file.
